When the Wolf Catches the Rabbit
by MetaCandescence
Summary: The only thing Blake Matthews has ever known is the art of hunting werewolves. So when her entire world is ripped out from under her feet by a single bite and her best friend is stolen, the only thing she can do is fight to get him back. Her search throws her right into the path of Derek Hale. She needs his help, but what does he stand to gain from her? (Derek/OC)
1. The Rabbit

**A/N:** Hello all! Brittany here, and I thought I'd introduce you to my newest fic. This one's a little different than the ones I already have, and if you've read one of my other fics, you'll know why. Blake, the OC I'm using in this fic, happens to also be the main OC of one of my other fics, '_Rabbit, My Claws are Down.' _Now, some of you might find that an extremely lazy thing to do, and I'd be inclined to agree with you. Allow me a second to explain _why _exactly, I chose to include Blake in this fic as the OC instead of creating a new OC tailored to fit the Teen Wolf world.

I know that if I chose to instead create another OC specifically for the Teen Wolf world, there's a huge chance that she'd turn out to be very much like Blake. I know myself, and I know the characters that I lean towards. I also know that I haven't seen a story revolving around a hunter OC yet in my very brief stay in the Teen Wolf fandom. That's not to say I've searched, but I have been browsing the fics for the last two weeks, and while that's not a great amount of time, it's enough for me. It's an interesting concept that I haven't seen done before, so when I got the idea, Blake popped into my head and my brain ran with it. Really, the only thing I had to do to make her fit seamlessly into the Teen Wolf universe was to modify her background just a little. In the original fic using Blake, _Rabbit, _she's a hunter of all things supernatural. In this fic, she's a hunter of werewolves. There are a few other details that got tweaked and fine-tuned, but other than that, Blake's the same person she's always been… and that includes Wess, her ever faithful canine companion.

Unfortunately, there are some coincidences between Blake and her characterization and the characterization of some of the characters on the show. I'm not going to point out examples, for I'm sure you'll see them in time. But there is the _extremely _unfortunate coincidence between Miss Jennifer Blake and my OC, Blake Matthews. They share a name and they share Derek. But, let me assure you, Blake's name and all of her characteristics were set in stone a year and a half before I ever even knew about Teen Wolf. So all of the coincidences are just that—coincidence.

In short, I hope you'll continue to read this fic even if you disagree with my choice to include Blake in it. I hope you'll give the story a chance to maybe change your mind. With that said, I genuinely hope you like it. And if you like it, review! I can't stress how important reviews are to me. They feed me and they feed my muse. They keep me running. They inspire me. I'm already a little insecure about this fic, so your reviews will help me feel more confident. Thank you.

Sorry for the monster of an author's note. Special thanks to mcgonagiggles for her continued support and beta-reading abilities. Oh! One last thing, the rating is for language, mild gore, and violence. Thanks again, and I hope you have a happy read! :D

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Teen Wolf or any of the characters associated with it. I will never own it and that goes for every chapter of this story.

* * *

Blake grumbles under her breath, angrily rifling through her bag of belongings. Angry, panicked tears sting her eyes and a horrible knot of rage curls in her stomach. "I can't believe you," she seethes, turning her burning blue eyes accusingly on the female hunter sitting calmly across the room. Blake had somehow forgotten her name in the midst of her hatred. In response to her furious tone, Wess's ears perk and he slowly gets to his feet, carefully avoiding putting any weight on his front right paw. Three long slashes on his shoulder ooze blood slowly, matting his thick black fur. After a little more rummaging, she locates the item she was looking for, ripping it out of the bag as if it had done her some great injustice.

The woman scoffs, an ugly look of indifference clouding her usually pleasant features. "You can't believe _me?_ You're the one bawling over a stupid dog!" she shot back.

Blake whips around to face her, clutching her wallet so tightly her fingers and knuckles turn white. Fury flies through her veins like a drug, fueling the next outburst. "You deliberately put him in danger! When you _knew_ he's not supposed to be around when we hunt!" Her entire body starts to tremble and she can't keep her hands steady enough to pull her debit card out of her wallet. She gives a strangled yell of frustration, flinging her wallet on the hotel room bed. Wess had been specially trained to detect werewolves, a result of bucket loads of patience and treats on Blake's end. While it's useful for tracking, he becomes a liability during fights so he usually stays in the car. But the woman in front of her had purposefully brought him into the thick of a fight to distract the alpha.

"I thought I brought you along to kill an alpha, not whine about your little mutt getting a scratch!" the woman snaps, exasperated with Blake's hysteria. "Shit happens," she clips uninterestedly, studying her perfectly manicured nails.

Blake's arms ache with the unbelievable urge to wring her fellow hunter's neck. Her fingers thrum as if ants were marching up and down them. "He's_ bleeding_! I told you to drop me off at a vet, NOT take me back here!" Wess limps over to Blake's shaking form and presses his cold nose into thigh. Blake bites back a sob, reaching down to scratch Wess's ears comfortingly as a tear rolls down her cheek. "J-Just let me borrow your car, please! He needs help!" she asks, scrubbing the tears from her eyes.

"Not a chance! That thing's dripping blood everywhere!" the female hunter retorts, smirking as she sits back and enjoys Blake's panic.

Blake's hands fly up to her hair, her trembling fingers digging into her scalp and ripping out a few strands of light chocolate colored hair with the intensity of her grip. She clenches her eyes shut and takes a deep breath, reminding herself that Wess needs help this moment. She can't afford a meltdown right now. Slightly more composed than before, she heavily exhales and picks her wallet off of the bed and shoves it into the pocket of her jeans. "If you EVER put him in danger again…" she pauses to lick her cracked lips, tasting the sharp sting of blood, "I will personally see to it that your heart never beats again."

The woman's eyes narrow dangerously. "Is that a threat?" she asks slowly, rising to her feet.

"'_Is that a threat?_'" Blake imitates crudely. "Yes, it's a threat! What'd you think it was, pillow talk?!" she yells, flinging her arms to side as if to punctuate her words. "I don't have time to deal with this. I need to get my dog, the one that YOU injured, to the vet. We will not be working together again. I'll come get my things after he's looked after," she says, keeping a tenuous hold on her temper. Having said everything she needed to, she kneels and gently pulls Wess into the cradle of her arms, making sure his wounds aren't being agitated by anything. Wess gives a sharp whine and wiggles in the discomfort of not having his paws on the floor, but settles after a moment, too tired to put up much of a struggle.

Blake slams the door behind her, striding down the long hotel hallway. A couple who happened to be walking down the hall to their room, stops and stares as she passes, but she doesn't care that she's not supposed to have a dog in the hotel. She really doesn't care that she just undid all of the effort she put into sneaking a 92 pound German Shepherd into this hotel and she could care less that if an employee spots her she could be fined.

She just wants Wess to be okay. That's all she cares about.

* * *

Blake's knee bounces anxiously, her boot squeaking obnoxiously against the dingy white tile of the veterinarian office. The light overhead buzzes irritatingly as it gives off a sickly white glow in the sickly white room. Across the walls are plastered cute little posters of kitten and puppies along with a couple informatory ones containing knowledge on things like how much food to give each size of dog and what to do if your animal stops breathing.

"Ms. Matthews?"

"Y-Yes?!" Blake yelps, springing to her feet. The vet looks at her with a small, knowing smile, as if she had seen this kind of reaction hundreds of times. Even so, Blake clears her throat and wipes her sweaty palms over her dirty jeans. "Um, yes?" she asks again in a steadier voice.

"The stitches have been completed and the local anesthetic has worn off. It looks like your dog is going to be fine," the vet informs her, ushering her into the door leading to the room Wess is in.

"Thank you," Blake replies, unable to keep the grin off her face.

"It's not a problem, Ms. Matthews. We're glad to help. Now, I'm going to give you a prescription for a medication for pain and some antibiotics," the vet says as she opens the door to reveal Wess lying on a stainless steel table, a vet's assistant standing by to make sure he doesn't try to jump off and pull his stitches.

Blake grins at Wess's cleanly shaven shoulder and neck, able to clearly see three long lines of stitching from where they closed the wounds. Wess's tail wags sedately as he catches sight of her. "Hey, buddy," she greets softly, carefully scratching between his ears. He whines softly, his tail thumping rhythmically on the table.

"Okay, Ms. Matthews, you and Wess are good to go, there are just a few things I want to go over with you about looking after the stitches," the vet says, launching into an explanation about how to clean the stitches and how to administer the pain medication and antibiotics and when to come back to get the stitches removed.

"Okay," she says at last, "that about covers it. Again, all of this information will be stapled to the bag the medication comes in, I just wanted to make sure you understand everything."

Blake nods eagerly, "Yes ma'am, thank you so much." She carefully slides her arms under Wess to gently lower him to the floor, allowing him to stand on his own shaky feet. After that, she's lead into the lobby, where she pays for the treatment and receives the medication, stapled with instructions as promised. Finally done with everything, Blake shoulders the glass door open, causing the bell to give a hollow jingle, and waits patiently for Wess to follow. As she clicks the thick leather leash into place on Wess's collar, which is also made of fine leather, she notes that the sun had since set and left the street in semi-darkness.

Blake exhales slowly through her nose and stuffs the white plastic bag of medication into her coat pocket, her chest tightening with worry. Wess's vet bills totaled 500 dollars. Now she only had 100 dollars of the money that's supposed to get her halfway across the country and back to her car. Suddenly, parking her car at a friend's house in Missouri while she tracked werewolves all the way to New York with a psycho wasn't the best idea. She didn't even know the name of the town she's in.

How's she supposed to feed herself and Wess AND somehow get the both of them back to Missouri to pick up her car?

Blake massages her forehead, deciding to deal with it later. Right now she's dreading the thought of forcing her injured dog to walk all the way back to the hotel room where her psycho of an ex-hunting partner is waiting. She had carried him the entire way her and her arms still ache; she's worried that if she tries to do it again, she'll drop him.

But Blake knows that the second Wess even hints at being in pain from walking, she'll break down and carry him anyway.

Blake casts a glance at Wess and grins weakly when she finds him staring at her already. "Ya ready, bud?" she asks for the sole purpose of making his tail wag. It causes its intended effect, the canine's tail swishing back and forth as he gives a short bark. She breathes a laugh and scratches his ears, beginning the long trek back to the hotel.

Blake can't help but feel guilty for Wess getting hurt. She should've been paying more attention to the way her ex-hunting partner acted around him. That woman was definitely going to get another piece of Blake's mind once she got back to the hotel. There's no excuse for using Wess to lure the alpha away like she did. Just thinking about it, she can feel the familiar warmth of anger heating her bones. That woman would be lucky if Blake let her get away with only a couple broken bones. Without her noticing, her fingers curled into fists and began to tremble. She'd like to cause more harm to that woman, but she knows that if she does more than give her a black eye, she'll have a mountain of hunters on her ass like stink on a skunk. Instead of being the hunter, she'd become the hunted.

Why's everything going wrong? Blake regrets ever agreeing to work with that woman. The whole experience has just been a huge nightmare.

Blake doesn't bother to hold in the grunt of frustration as she lashes out to kick a stray can, causing it to go whizzing off into the darkness. If Wess had died, she'd be completely alone. She hastily scrubs the building tears out of her eyes, mad at herself for tearing up again. Wess is the only constant in her life, without him the ground would come out from under her… and she doesn't think she could recover. She's had him since he was just a puppy. An acquaintance suggested that she should get a dog after the death of her parents to keep her company. She had laughed it off seeing as her parents weren't very good company, but she couldn't get the thought of a puppy out of her head. Soon after that, there was an ad in the paper about a mischievous 12-week old German Shepherd free to a loving home. They had him for two weeks and weren't ready for the potty accidents and damaged furniture. Blake, always one for a challenge, picked him up the same day.

It's been four years and Blake has been grateful for that decision ever since. Unconsciously, she rolls the sleeves of her coat up, her fingers dragging over the surface of a scar she had gotten saving Wess from a coil of razor ribbon wire. The still-small puppy had given her the slip and escaped into an abandoned demolition site. Inside there was a tangled mass of razor ribbon wire and Wess stumbled right into it. She heard his cries and, after retrieving some wire-cutters, she carefully extracted him from the deadly tangle. There was another scar on her chin from where she cut a stretch of wire with too much tension in it and, upon all of that tension being released, it lashed out like a snake, tearing a ragged cut open on the bottom of her jaw near her ear. She's lucky it didn't catch a vein in her neck.

Wess tenses, a sharp bark coming from him followed by a string of rumbling snarls. Blake is put on edge immediately, her hands flying to her coat pockets where she gropes uselessly for a weapon. She doesn't find one. All she finds is her wallet and the bag of medication. She left her gun on the table in the hotel room that morning.

This isn't good.

Blake turns her head slowly, only to be greeted with the sight of an alley way with two cardinal red eyes leering at her from the darkness. She doesn't even have time to flinch before the eyes are right in her face. A thick hand wraps around her throat and before she's able to react, there's a harsh, bruising tug on her arm and then wind whips through her hair. Not a second later, she finds herself slammed against a cinderblock wall. Grunting in pain, she feels her entire body reverberate with agony. The back of her head feels as if someone smeared liquid fire across it and she has little doubt that she's probably sustained a concussion.

Prying her eyes open, she finds a brown, white and red smear uncomfortably close to her face. It's likely an alpha, but she can't tell by the refusal of her eyes to focus. A rumbling growl that could be interpreted as a laugh echoes from the mass in front of her, "I'm surprised you're still conscious, little hunter." Blake blinks blearily, her vision sharpening just enough to see the face of her attacker. It's definitely an alpha, and in fact, it's the same alpha she thought she killed this morning. What luck. He hasn't transformed yet, his eyes being the only thing to betray his position to her.

She watches as his brilliantly colored eyes slide to the side, making her unconsciously follow along with her own eyes. Wess is sitting on the sidewalk, snarling and barking at the alpha. "Wess," Blake chokes, unable to draw a breath on account of the clawed hand crushing her windpipes. With the last of the air she has, she manages to make a simple command, one that would afford her peace of mind.

"Go… home!"

Wess cocks his head and plants himself on the concrete which makes Blake think he's going to ignore her command. But after a second, he gets up and bolts in the direction of the hotel. If she had the air, she'd breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, she digs her nails into the alpha's hairy arms. It's a useless endeavor, and she knows it. Her blunt fingernails don't break the alpha's skin even as she digs into him with all the strength she can gather. She pulls her knee up to her chest and kicks out, the sole of her boot connecting solidly with the alpha's sternum. His hot breath washes over her face as it's forced from his lungs and she's positive it would smell terrible if she actually had the ability to smell it, but his grip doesn't loosen.

"That hurrrt, little hunter," he drawls, his voice rasping into more of low grumble like metal sliding over gravel. "But since I'm in such a good mood… I'll leave you with a gift instead of killing you. Your little code has always amused me, I do love being the cause of such… anguish," he says, chuckling. Blake's eyes widen and she shakes her head softly, trying to pry his hand away from her throat. She can't breathe. He's going to kill her.

His large hand encompasses Blake's wrist as he tugs her arm up into a raised position. She tries to jerk it out of his grip, but no matter how much she struggles she can't free herself. She watches with some kind of sick fascination as his face morphs, four fangs each an inch long protrude from his mouth, the bridge of his nose widens and flattens as thick patches of hair crawl along his jawline to form some seriously gross mutton chops. The last thing to happen is the ridge of eyebrow growing and extending, causing it to appear as if his brilliant cardinal eyes have sunken deeper into his head.

What he plans on doing is only made apparent to Blake when he draws her arm up next to his mouth. She can feel his breath as it glides over her, she can feel the miniscule amount of moisture that clings to the surface of her skin after being deposited there by his exhale, she can feel the hairs on her arm being disturbed as his mouth comes ever closer.

And for a second, she can feel the point of his fangs as they drag gently along the surface, not drawing blood... until they sink deeply into the muscles of her forearm.

Blake struggles weakly, her vision going dark. The pain in her arm is intense, sinking all the way to the bone and spreading through her body like an infection. The crushing grip on her throat is removed and she crumbles to the ground, gasping desperately in an attempt to fill her lungs with oxygen. Instinctively curling in on herself, Blake wheezes loudly as tepid blood pours out of her arm and absorbs into the material of her shirt. She can feel the sticky metallic liquid make contact with her stomach. There's too much blood, he must have punctured a vein.

Through her gasping pants, she almost doesn't hear the alpha continue speaking. "I should kill you and put you out of your misery… but your code will do that for me," she hears the deep rolling chortle that boarders on a growl once again. "If you don't finish the job yourself, your little friends will."

Blake blinks hard, trying to clear the haze out of her eyes, but the alpha's already gone. This isn't good. Her body is on fire, everything hurts. Her arm's still bleeding at an alarming rate, coating her chest and stomach in blood. It feels like someone spilled lukewarm hot chocolate all over her.

To make everything worse, her eyes won't open any more. She's so sleepy. She's been up since three A.M. this morning, hunting werewolves, carrying Wess for hours, and being hunted herself. It's just all too much for her… maybe a nap will do her some good. That is, if she doesn't die from blood loss and the brain damage that surely occurred when her noggin came in contact with the cinderblock wall.

Just… a nap.

* * *

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! I just wanted to take another moment to say that Blake is a little different in this fic than in _Rabbit, _because she's under a completely different set of circumstances here. Anyway, if you have any thoughts, feelings, or questions, I'd be more than happy to hear them. :)


	2. The Shatter

**A/N: **Hello lovelies! I'm back with another chapter for all of you fine people! Hope ya like it. I'm probably going to post another one some time later this afternoon. I'm trying to cheer myself up after last night's episode. :(

Anyway, I hope y'all have a happy read!

* * *

Seeing as when Blake passed out, she was perhaps bleeding to death and suffering from a concussion, it's no small wonder that she actually lived to experience another morning, no matter how horrendous that morning might turn out to be.

"Hey! Hey, are you okay?!" Fingers curl into the material of Blake's coat, shaking her softly. "Oh god, please don't be dead. Please don't be dead. I didn't even want to go to work today, please don't let me find a dead body as a reward for getting out of bed." There's a hesitant, gentle pressure on her chest and then a happy sigh. "Thank you, Jesus. Okay, she's breathing. Now I gotta… gotta call an ambulance."

Blake groans, the voice piercing her head like a jackhammer. She struggles to force her eyes open, coming face to face with a young teenage girl. When the girl meets Blake's eyes, she stops dialing and stares. "You're—You're awake! Uh, just hold on, don't move and I'll call an ambulance!" she yells, turning her attention back to her phone.

Blake winces, snapping her eyes shut. Why is that girl screaming? "No," Blake breathes, struggling to push herself to into a sitting position.

"Stop!" the girl yelps, gently trying to hold Blake down. "You're injured, there's blood everywhere!"

Blake ignores the girl's feeble attempt to keep her down, sitting up easily. "I'm okay, don't call the ambulance," Blake sighs, gingerly prodding the back of her head to get a feel of the damage done.

The girl's eyes widen as she stares at Blake, "H-How did you do that? I-I just used all of my weight to hold you down and you didn't even notice!" she shoves herself away from Blake, awkwardly kicking at the ground to scoot further away.

Blake's hand falls from the back of her head as she sucks in a quick breath, a bitter scent filling her nose. Instinctively, she identifies it as the stench of fear. She shouldn't be able to smell that. Realization hits her and she drops her head into her hands, fingers curling into her hair. How could she forget that she was bitten? "No, no, no…" Blake pleads, panic shaking her.

"You're—you're really freaking me out! What's your deal?!" the girl demands from the safety of other side of the alley. "I find you nearly dead in an alley and now you're acting like you're some drugged up maniac!" she babbles. Blake isn't looking at her, but she can clearly hear the girl's frightened heartbeat, fluttering like a hummingbird.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Blake apologizes, even though Blake is probably more freaked out than the girl. "You can leave now, I'm okay. Thank you for checking on me," she says mechanically, not even really thinking about what she's saying. Without any further prompting, the girl springs to her feet and briskly walks away, her footsteps thudding on the pavement.

With the girl gone, Blake tentatively rolls the sleeve of her coat up, checking for evidence of that condemning bite. The area's coated in deep rust colored blood that has since dried. Grimacing, Blake licks her fingers and begins to scrub the blood away, which crumbles and flakes beneath her fingertips.

The skin is perfectly unmarred and unbroken.

Blake lets her head thump against the wall she's leaning on, hoping for a sharp lance of pain that would serve to tether her to reality, but there's nothing. She hardly even felt it. She picks her head up and drops it again, experimenting to see if she feels anything this time. The result's the same; it doesn't even register on her pain scale. Frustrated, she slams her head against the wall with all of her strength. It sends a calming spike of pain through her delirious brain and a light shower of debris down the back of her shirt.

Confused, Blake turns her head to see what fell down her shirt, only to be greeted with the sight of a large splintering crack in the wall from where she had slammed her head into it. The pain helped for a moment, but the sight of the wall undid any good it caused.

Great, now there are shards of cinderblock down her shirt.

Tiredly, Blake rubs her hands over her face, overwhelmed with everything that's happening. She knows without a doubt what will happen but there are things she needs to do before that. She needs to give notice to the couple people who would wonder what happened to her, write some kind of letter as to what will happen to all of her belongings and… find Wess a new home. The last one hurts the most. No one will ever understand Wess the same way she does. No one will ever take care of him in the same way she does. No one will ever love him as much as she does.

Blake swallows thickly, her eyes burning with tears. First things first, she has to find Wess before she can find him a new home. She pushes herself to her feet, noticing how easy and completely pain-free the action had been. There's a gentle tug on the crook of her elbow and when she investigates, she finds that Wess's leash is tangled around her arm with his collar still attached to the end. It must've gotten yanked clean off of him when the alpha grabbed her. A cold stone of dread drops in her stomach as she realizes that it could've easily broken his neck instead of just getting yanked off. She understands how ridiculously _lucky _she is that the vet had shaved part of Wess's neck as well as his shoulder. Thanks to the absence of some of his thick fur, the collar had been looser than usual.

Frantically blinking back the fresh tears at the thought of Wess dying, she holds the collar up to her face to inspect it. She remembers the day she bought it. She was at one of those huge pet store chains, trying to keep a wiggling puppy in her arms and under control. She, of course, hadn't spotted the shopping carts at the front doors that would've made the whole adventure so much easier. Every time she tried to set him down, one of the pimply-faced employees would teleport over and mercilessly scold her for not having a leash on him even though that's the exact thing she was there for. Finally, after struggling for half an hour, she picked out a simple puppy collar and leash that would suffice until he got bigger. But when she went to leave, she saw the adult dog collars and one caught her eye immediately. It was made of thick supple tan leather, with a chunky silver plate on the front to allow for the engraving of a name. She loved its simple silver buckle and stream-lined design and bought it on a whim. Luckily there was an engraving machine up at the front of the store. It was pricey, the collar and engraving combined, but she thought it was worth it.

Blake runs her thumb over the surface of the silver plate on Wess's collar; it's still smooth and shiny, four years later. She feels the comforting ridges of the all capital letters, 'WESSON.' She had gotten Wess's full name engraved instead of his nickname. She didn't know at the time that she'd end up calling him 'Wess' more than 'Wesson.'

She hopes he's okay, she hopes that the stitches hadn't broken when he ran away last night, she hopes he found his way back to the hotel safely, she hopes he found somewhere secure to wait for her… basically everything in her is hoping for him to be safe.

Curiously, Blake brings the collar closer to her nose and pulls a deep breath in, wondering if she could track him in the same way she had taught him to track other things. A familiar scent fills her senses, one that she's very well acquainted with. Now that she can identify one scent as belonging to Wess, she can smell it all over herself, through even the gunky smell of blood. She wonders if any of her own scent is in the potent mix of dog and blood, but doesn't dwell on it for long.

Blake follows Wess's scent as well as she can, not sure if she's just going back to the hotel the way she remembers going or actually following a trial. She can still smell him, but his scent is all over her and that might just be what she smells. Still, she did tell him to go home, and home was the hotel at the moment. It'd be smart to check there first.

Blake groans and rolls her shoulders, feeling absolutely disgusting with dried blood clinging to her abdomen and making her shirt stiff. She zipped her coat up to cover most of the blood stains, but that didn't mean she couldn't feel them anymore. Her skin is sticky and tight, making her every movement supremely uncomfortable. Maybe she should take a shower before she starts looking for Wess. It would certainly help make it easier.

With that thought in mind, when Blake arrives at the hotel she checks the parking lot to make sure Wess hadn't turned up there. But, as she feared, there's no sign of him. She thinks she catches his scent every once and awhile, but then she remembers how deeply intertwined his scent is with hers. Disheartened, Blake uses her hotel room key to open the back entrance to the hotel and heads up to the room she shares with a psycho.

Sighing, Blake slides the key card into the slot on the door handle. A little green light flashes and she's allowed entrance to the room. "I'm back," she calls in a monotone, shrugging her jacket off.

Her ex-hunting partner, whose name is Kate, she remembers abruptly, turns from where she's sitting at the small desk and grins, "Welcome back," she says smugly. Her grin stretches until Blake is bombarded the vivid image of the Cheshire cat's grin. "Rough night?"

"You could say that," Blake says, watching Kate suspiciously. Temporarily ignoring it, Blake retrieves her wallet and Wess's medication from her coat pockets. She tosses her wallet into her backpack and sets the medication on the table. She wonders why the psycho hasn't said anything about the blood, but she decides she doesn't care. "I'm going to take a shower," she drones as she stuffs her coat in her backpack.

"Oh good, there's something waiting in there for you. I found it in the parking lot half dead this morning," Kate snidely remarks. "Next time you get wasted, you should try not to lose track of your things."

"What?" Blake asks, her mouth as dry as the sands of the Sahara.

"Take a look," the psycho shrugs.

Blake stares at the bathroom door, her ears suddenly picking up another heartbeat. "Wess," she breathes, nearly falling to her knees in relief. She crosses the room in a couple bounds, yanking the door open. Wess is curled up peacefully on the cream colored tile, his shaved shoulder clearly visible to her. There's a little blood surrounding the stitches and it looks like one or two single stitches might've busted, but other than that he seems to be in fine shape, just exhausted. "Hey, bud," she greets softly, scratching the top of his head.

Wess's eyes snap open and there's a flash of bright white teeth before they find a home in Blake's wrist. She yelps in pain, ripping her wrist out of Wess's mouth and stumbling backwards. "W-Wess?" she stutters, confused at the dog's abrupt change in personality. Blood splatters to the tile, leaking from the gaping wound on her wrist. His teeth had torn her open when she pulled her wrist back. She watches him, sure that he'd immediately sidle up next to her and beg forgiveness for hurting her by covering her face in kisses.

But he doesn't. Instead he picks up a nasty snarl that she's only heard during the hunts. Her heart hurts more than her wrist at the sight of her most loyal friend growling at her.

Blake whips around to face Kate, her eyes burning with hatred. "What did you do to him?!" she yells, feeling this unbelievable rage fly through her. Without looking in a mirror, Blake can tell that her eyes have changed in some way thanks to the incredible sharpening of her vision. It's like wearing glasses for the first time when you've needed them all your life.

Kate looks surprised for a scant second before she leaps to her feet and snatches a gun from the table next to her. "Don't move or I'll blow your head off," she hisses in warning.

It's a warning Blake doesn't take on account of the endless well of anger that has taken root in her heart. "I should kill you," Blake growls, her voice rumbling and reverberating in her chest in a manner that's oh so satisfying.

"YOU should kill ME?" Kate echoes, "You're the one who went out and got bit by an alpha like a dipshit!" she retorts, causing Blake to recoil in surprise. "Are you _really _that stupid?! Your mutt bit you because that's what you trained it to do!" she laughs, an earthshattering gunshot sounding through the cramped room as the bullet rips straight through Blake's shoulder and embeds into the wall behind her.

Blake grunts, her hand flying up to grasp the bullet wound. Hot liquid gathers under her palm and trickles into her armpit, the sharp scent of rust filling her senses. The pain hazes through her brain like a fog, coating her vision in a translucent film the hue of blood. A sharp pain lancing through her brain makes her yelp and grasp her head with her good arm, the other hanging limply next to her. The action smears blood from her shoulder wound across her face as her fingers try desperately to soothe an ache of which she can't find the source. It feels like her brain's exploding, like a million shards of shrapnel have lodged into the inside of her skull. When she thinks it can't any worse, pointed claws erupt from her fingertips, embedding into the fragile skin of her face.

Beneath her newly-clawed hand, her face changes and contorts, morphing into the face of the creature she has spent her life hunting. She feels with sickening clarity as her nose flattens and is elongated, scents flooding through her brain like a roll of thunder that never stops. Her teeth rearrange themselves, growing at an agonizing pace that causes her mouth to feel heavy and crowded, almost like a lifeboat overburdened with passengers. The ridge of her eyebrow expands, her eyes feeling like they've retreated into her head. At the corner of each side of her jaw is a tuft of fur that comes down like sideburns. The last thing to change is her ears. There's a sharp, warm pinch at the tip of each ear before they're pulled into points as if they were made of Play-Doh. When her skin stops moving under her fingers, she looks right up into the face of one of the most ruthless hunters she's ever had the displeasure of working with.

"That's a good look on you," Kate smiles sardonically, "though I've never had to put down someone I knew. I suppose it doesn't make much of a difference. Everyone dies the same."

A guttural roar leaves Blake's mouth, causing a feral grin to fly across the hunter's face. "Your teeth are nice, but I prefer guns," she says, the light catching the polished metal of her gun just right. Another gunshot rings out, a bullet burrowing into Blake stomach causing her to drop to her knees. Every single werewolf feature she acquired is snapped away like the leaves of a tree in a hurricane. Gasping, she coughs up a mouthful of blood and curls in on herself, desperately pressing her hand to the wound as hot blood pumps out of it in time with her heartbeat.

"Oh, there's that pretty face again," Kate coos, "I was wondering if I'd ever see it again," she says in a falsely nonchalant tone. Blake can hear her footsteps as she pads softly across the soft plush carpet. When she reaches Blake, she grabs a handful of the newly-turned werewolf's hair and wrenches her head up. "And now," she flashes her perfectly straight white teeth in a sweet smile that must've brought even the hardest of men to their knees, "I'm going to kill you."

Kate presses the cold metal of the gun to Blake's forehead and Blake closes her eyes. It was going to happen eventually. Death is the only way contracting lycanthropy can turn out for her. This just saves her from having to do it herself.

Three loud barks crack through the air in quick succession, causing Blake to pry her tired blue eyes open once more. It's Wess. He's barking at Blake again, the thought wrecks whatever is left of her heart and causes her eyes to fill with tears. "W-Wess," she cries.

Kate rolls her eyes, "Yes, she's a werewolf. I get it already," she grumbles, turning back to Blake. Blake makes a split second decision and brushes the gun away from her forehead, well, at least it feels as if she only brushed it away but the hunter's hand goes flying, the gun spinning out of her grip. Blake takes this chance to push herself past the hunter and on her way to freedom. Kate lunges for the gun, her hands wrapping around it just as Blake swoops down to pick her bag of belongings off the ground and, in a happy coincidence, ducking out of the way of the bullet. Wess is barking again, his vicious cries cutting through the air. Blake pries the heavy oak door open and slams it behind her, hearing another gunshot as she does. A bullet explodes through the door and lodges itself shallowly in the wall across the hall.

Blake takes that as her cue to run as if someone set her tail on fire. Only when she's a mile deep in the thick copse of trees behind the hotel, does she collapse against a tree and sigh deeply. "That was close," she mutters aloud to herself, her brain already formulating a plan on how to get Wess back and away from the clutches of that witch.

A rush of liquid climbs up Blake's throat, some instinct forcing her to flip onto her hands and knees just in time for a flood of putrid black blood to splatter on the foliage beneath her. Its acrid scent sinks into her nose and causes her to gag, backpedalling away from the pool of tainted blood. She groans and clutches her stomach, feeling guilty for all of the times she had shot other werewolves with wolfsbane bullets.

Sick with curiosity, Blake slowly peels the hem of her white long sleeved shirt up with one hand and grimaces at the smoking blue wound burrowed deeply into her abdomen. While the gunshot to her shoulder was healing, albeit very slowly, this wound looked only to be getting worse with fetid black branches of infection dispersing from it.

Blake's head thumps against the ground, all of the energy draining from her. "I'm already dying," she whispers, reality hitting with all of the finesse of a wrecking ball.

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A/N: That's a horrible place to leave off, I know. I hope you liked it anyway! Leave a review, it'll make me ridiculously happy and when I'm ridiculously happy, I get generous. ;)


	3. The Edge

A/N: Hello all! Welcome to chapter three! I said last chapter I would post it later today and here it is. Unfortunately, this is probably the only time you'll get two updates in one day... I'm thinking the rest will be much more spaced out. I'll probably start trying to update weekly from here, but I'm not sure yet.

Anyway! Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed, followed, or favorited, it means so much to me!

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Breath came and went like the waves of the ocean. Breathing in is the water rushing up onto the beach bubbling and undulating, breathing out is the water's retreat, dragging sand and seaweed and shells. With that said, Blake feels like she has to fight the ocean in all its immense glory for every breath. Some part of her had hoped that she'd be asleep when the infection reached her heart, she had hoped not to be conscious for that event. But it looks like life had other plans. She could feel death looming in the background of her every thought like an old friend or a fond memory.

It's not that Blake wanted to die; it's just that there was no way she could recover from the wound. Even now, it leaks sickly black blood and pushes a deadly infection straight to her heart. She had wanted to get Wess back so badly. The thought of him in that room with Kate makes her sick with anger. All she wanted before she died was to find another home for Wess. One that would take care of him, play with him, and love him the same way she loved him.

That's an impossible feat in itself, no one would ever love Wess as much as Blake.

Tears leak from her eyes and crash to the leaves below, her breath resigning. She feels so incredibly drained of life, the only thing she can hear is her tortured heart beating, reminding her that she's still clinging to the act of breathing.

There's a crunch of leaves to her right, and she opens her eyes to see a man in a leather jacket with his narrowed eyes set on her. Seeing as how she's already dying, she doesn't much care about what this man wants, even if he is rather handsome with his short dark hair, hostile green eyes, and strong jaw. But her carefully honed intuition screams at her. This man is dangerous.

The crunches get louder until he's right next to her, scowling down at her. "You smell like death," he deadpans. The way he looks at her, his eyes scanning over her and making stops at her shoulder, wrist and stomach gives her the uncomfortable feeling that he knows more than he should.

Blake gives a breathy chortle, somewhat amused by his choice of words—and lack of hesitance. She wonders if the smell brought him to come investigate. But ultimately it doesn't matter to her. There's nothing left he can do to her.

"You smell like death and Kate Argent. Why is that?" he asks severely, his unsmiling face looming over hers like a dark cloud that tells of a coming storm. Staring blankly at him, her mind decides that he's probably a werewolf on account of his sense of smell.

Blake tries to draw the breath to answer him, but the weight of her chest is suddenly too great to overcome. He snarls in irritation, no doubt hearing her struggle for breath, and hauls her into a sitting position, his hands hooking under her armpits. She gives a weak hiss of pain as his thumb presses directly into the half-healed gunshot wound. It had stopped healing some time ago, she figures it's on account of her body focusing on healing the bigger threat.

The man with the severe face leans Blake against a tree, though her body protests the movement it does get easier to breathe and thus prolonging her pain. "Kate Argent," he reminds snappishly, "how do you know her? Why do you smell like her?" he asks again, giving her the distinct impression that if she wasn't dying he'd have his hands wrapped around her throat. Somehow he restrains himself.

Blake gives a shaky smirk, positive that this man won't like her answer. "We were hunting partners," she rasps, fighting for every word. Her head lolls and bangs against the tree, the tiny impact sending a violent crack of pain through her brain that puts her out like a light.

"What? You were—hey!" he starts to say something, but is interrupted by the slowing of Blake's heart. Growling, he punches the ground and then shoves himself to his feet, pacing in front of Blake. He still needed answers from her and he couldn't get them if she was dead. It was obvious she had been shot with wolfsbane, but there was no plausible way for him acquire one of the bullets she was shot with in such a short amount of time.

Halting in his furious pacing for a second, he turns his eyes on the backpack laying a dozen yards from her. It's a longshot, but he has to check. He drops to his knees next to the backpack and rips the zipper open, rooting through all of her clothes and dumping them on the ground. Now that his nose is practically in the backpack, he can smell the wolfsbane. It's that disgustingly cloying smell that makes him want to claw his nose off. Finally, in a secure zipper pocket he finds a small plastic case of ammunition and pulls a single bullet from it. After that, he grabs a lighter and aluminum tin of breath mints also found in her bag.

Now that he has what he needs, he goes back to the nearly dead woman and kneels in front of her. Her heart's still beating, but it won't be for long unless he gets a move on it. He dumps all of the mints out of the tin and gives the inside a quick wipe with his shirt. Then he rips the bullet apart with his claws and pours the wolfsbane into the newly-emptied tin. Lastly, he takes the lighter and sets the small pile of wolfsbane on fire. It sparks wildly for a short moment before dying down. While the fire fades, he reaches over and rolls the woman's shirt up to reveal the putrid bullet wound on her stomach that has black streaks of infection branching out from it. There are claw marks surrounding the wound, making it worse and deeper than it probably was when she acquired it. She had clawed the bullet out, but the infection lingered.

He rolls his shoulders and prepares for her to wake up and try to kill him because this isn't going to be fun for her. Grabbing the hot tin, he turns it upside down over her wound, banging on the bottom to make sure all the ashes come out. Then he presses his fingers into the bullet hole, tamping the ashes down the same way a smoker would press tobacco into a pipe.

Blake's eyes fly open and a cry is immediately on her lips, one that starts as a scream and dies as a guttural growling. Writhing, she swipes at the mystery man, who yanks his hand back just in time to avoid her. Her hands jerk to her stomach, but before she can touch the wound that's causing her such intense agony, the man catches her by wrists and pins them above her head.

"Don't touch it!" he barks as Blake rolls and writhes desperately to get out of his grip. When the infection doesn't budge for a full minute, he thinks it might be too late for her, despite how hard she's fighting against him. But finally, the lines of infection begin to retreat back into the bullet hole.

Blake's wrists are released just as the bullet hole seals shut completely. She collapses into herself, panting raggedly. "What," she gasps, bewildered and still feeling the lingering shocks of pain, "the hell did you do?" One second she was dying, the next she was waking up in incredible pain. Though, apart from the pain, she did feel better than before.

"Saved your life," he growls, narrowing his eyes dangerously at her.

"How?" Blake asks, rubbing a hand over her stomach. She was certain that bullet was going to be the death of her, but now there's not even a trace of it. What the hell did he do?

"It doesn't matter," he says, his teeth clenched tightly. "Where is Kate Argent?"

Now it's Blake's turn to narrow her eyes, "What do you want with _her_?" she hisses, a bitter wave of hatred flooding her heart.

"I'm going to kill her," he says simply, staring Blake dead in the eyes, challenging her to oppose him.

Blake sighs and her head sags enough for her chin to rest on her chest. "Thank God," she mutters, "someone needs to take that psycho down. She's in a hotel about a mile that way," she says, pointing in the direction she remembers stumbling in from. "She's in room 119, it's on the ground floor," she informs him, slowly clambering to her feet. It feels a little like she's giving an elephant a piggy back ride.

He turns in the direction she pointed and begins to walk, "Wait," she calls weakly. He stops, turning to pin her with an impatient scowl. "I can give you a key card," she says, causing the scowl on his face to lighten a smidge. She frowns when she catches sight of her ransacked backpack and gives him a glance out of the corner of her eyes, which results in an indifferent shrug on his end. She figures he got whatever saved her out of her bag and doesn't push it. She digs through her disarrayed belongings until she finds her wallet. After digging the key card out, she makes her way back over to the man who wants to kill Kate Argent.

Blake bites her lip, a sudden spike of uncertainty hitting her. He holds his hand out for the card, watching her expectantly. "Wait," she says, "before I give you the card… can you promise me that you won't hurt the dog?" He glowers at her for not handing the key card over immediately, shifting his weight as if he's preparing to take it from her by force. "He's mostly black but he has tan on his face, chest and legs, his name's Wess," she elaborates, uncaring of how irritated he is. "He's the only thing I have left. Promise me you won't touch him," she says, staring unflinchingly at his hard expression.

"I don't have-"

"Promise me!" Blake snarls, interrupting whatever he was going to say. He arches an eyebrow at her sudden outburst, but doesn't respond, forcing Blake to elaborate once more, "If I find out you've hurt him…" she trails off, her eyesight snapping into the sudden sharpness that tells her they've probably changed color. It wasn't intentional, just an effect that accompanied her rising heartbeat at the thought of Wess getting hurt. "I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and kill you in the most painful way possible," she threatens, her voice taut with poorly concealed anger.

His expression turns deadly in a snap, but he grinds his teeth together and holds his hand out once more, "I won't hurt the dog," he growls, keeping a leash on his anger.

Blake's shoulders sag in relief and the sharpness bleeds out of her vision. "Thank you," she whispers, pressing the card into his hand. "He's trained to track werewolves, he'll bark at you but he won't bite," she says, trying to make sure the man isn't startled by Wess's reaction and harms him.

"Just like you thought he'd never bite you?" he asks quietly, his eyes trailing down her arm to her wrist. She swallows thickly and winces at the reminder, unconsciously wrapping her fingers around her wrist. It healed since he did whatever he did to make the infection go away. But he must've seen it before that and put the pieces together. It wouldn't be hard to pick out Wess's scent on her bag if that were the only thing there, but there were also four or five of his dog toys in there as well as his collar and leash. He silently turns and begins in the direction she pointed him, his shoulders taut with tension.

Blake plops on the ground, leaning against the tree once more. Well, at least she's not dying anymore. She's still not sure how he did it, she only knows that whatever he did hurt like hell. To her right is a tin that formerly held breath mints, but now all it held was a few ashes and a black scorch mark. Next to the empty tin is a torn apart bullet shell that she recognizes as one of her special wolfsbane bullets. It looks like he tore the bullet open and set the wolfsbane on fire in the tin… but what after that? When she woke up, his hand was on her stomach. What was he doing?

Curiously, Blake lifts up the hem of her tattered white long sleeved shirt and runs a hand over her belly. The skin there is as smooth as silk and tells no story of the infection that ran rampant only a couple minutes before. In fact, the skin tells no stories at all. Not even of the time she tried to jump a fence and nearly gutted herself on the spikes at the top. That scar was nearly five inches long. How did it disappear?

Blake hesitantly rolls the sleeve of shirt her up, checking for the scar given to her by the razor ribbon wire when she untangled Wess from it, only to find no trace of it ever existing. Her skin was as smooth and perfect as the airbrushed models in magazines. Shaking, she pushes herself to her feet and trudges over to her bag to grab the compact mirror she always keeps on hand. Prying the plastic case open, she uses it to get a view of the side of her jaw closest to her ear. The other razor ribbon scar is gone as well. In a last ditch effort to find a scar, she moves the mirror to look at the bottom of her chin. When she was six years old she busted her chin on a window sill, leaving a permanent indent there. It was one of the oldest scars she had, but even that is gone.

Maybe if it were someone other than Blake, they'd be happy to be rid of all of their scars. But this is Blake, who uses her scars to remember. Each scar had a story and most of the bigger scars had, well, bigger stories. Her scars were a physical account of her life, her struggles. The indent on her chin told a story about her parents. The scars on her arm and jaw told a story about how much she loved Wess. The scar on her stomach told a story that said sometimes she was foolish and impulsive. Of course, there were other scars with equally important stories. But now, they were gone.

But they couldn't all be gone. It's impossible.

Blake unbuttons her jeans and slides them down to her mid-thigh, cautiously running her fingers over the smooth skin. Even that scar, the biggest one she had, is gone. It was given to her by a beta on her first serious hunt when she was 13. She was with her parents and while they dealt with the alpha, she was supposed to be taking down the last remaining beta. She thought she killed it and, like the amateur she was, she approached the body before making sure. The wounded werewolf raked its claws through her thigh, leaving three ragged scars that curled partly around her thigh even though it had been a long time since then.

But now the skin was smooth and firm, no indentations of ugly faded scars.

"Kate Argent wasn't in there."

Blake's head whips up at the sound, finding the man from earlier to be standing across from her on the other side of the small clearing. She takes a deep breath and presses a hand to her heart, trying to calm its frantic beating. Kate was gone. Did that mean Wess was gone with her? Grumbling under her breath, she shimmies her jeans back up to their proper position and buttons them. Her heartbeat continues its fast-paced beating, showing no signs of stopping as she continues her angry mumbling.

"I can hear you, you know," the man says blankly, staring at her blandly.

"Oh, can you?" Blake asks casually. "Well, that's fine. I was only grumbling about a creeper who showed up while I was trying to change my clothes-" Blake's heartbeat does an odd fumble in her chest, causing her to pause.

"That means you're lying," he throws in helpfully, his face completely impassive.

"Does it?" Blake hums, storing that tidbit of information for later use, "Well, that's useful. But more on point, what kind of guy silently creeps up like that and doesn't announce his presence? I have no idea how long you could've been standing there. What if I had actually been changing?" Blake asks, crossing her arms carefully over her chest. She really hopes Wess is okay. Maybe Kate left him behind for the maids to find.

He narrows his eyes at the accusation, "It's your fault that you didn't hear me and I did announce my presence, my footsteps, scent and voice did that. It's not my fault you don't use your senses to your advantage."

Blake shrugs, stuffing clothes into her backpack. She's about ready to sprint back to the hotel, screaming the entire way. Wess has to be there. Kate didn't even like him, why would she take him? "And it's not my fault I got changed against my will. These things take time getting used to, but I'm sure you know that," Blake says primly.

"No," he snaps, shifting his weight impatiently. "I don't."

Blake scrutinizes him for a short moment, wondering what he meant by that. Finally she hums and nods, "So I take that to mean you were born into it?" she asks casually while zipping her backpack.

"It doesn't matter," he grits. "Where is Kate Argent? You told me she would be there," he reminds, his expression getting more and more irritated by the second.

"I told you that because that's where I thought she would be," Blake replies easily, not bothered by worsening mood. "I had no reason to lie to you, and if I did lie, apparently you could tell," she pauses, exhaling slowly. "Was the dog there, at least?" she asks at last, wringing her hands together.

"The dog was gone," he says bluntly, shattering Blake's hope as if it was made of glass. "Kate's scent disappeared in the parking lot along with the dog's."

Blake winces and draws in a deep stabilizing breath, "Okay," she whispers, biting her lip. "Thank you." Tears come to her eyes but she blinks them away. Apparently she's going to be a werewolf for longer than she thought. There's no way she can let Kate do whatever she wants with Wess. Kate doesn't care about him and she's going to get him killed. Blake's resolve settles into an unshakeable determination. Even if it kills her, Wess is going to end up safe and happy. It's what he deserves.

Blake gives a shuddering breath, trying futilely to sort through the panic that rises in her chest at the thought of Kate being able to do whatever she wants to Wess with no one there to stop her. Shouldering her backpack, she crosses over to where the man's standing. "Can I have the key card back?" she asks.

He reaches into his pocket and retrieves the key card, but makes no move to give it back to her. "What were you and Kate doing here?" he asks, glaring down at her. This whole situation feels vaguely familiar, though the last time it was her withholding the key card.

"We were tracking a pack," Blake replies grumpily, wanting to just rip the key card out of his claws and make a break for it. "This pack moves around constantly, we've taken down a couple of their betas. We tracked them here and made an attempt to kill the alpha," she pauses and is reminded of last night when the alpha bit her. "But apparently we failed and it bit me as revenge," she scowls.

"Then why haven't you killed yourself yet?" he asks coldly. "That's what you're supposed to do, according to your little _code,_" he spits the word code as if it had done him some great injustice, but the way he looks at Blake is worse. He's looking at her as if… as if she had killed hundreds of his kind.

And she has. She deserves all of his ire. But she only killed werewolves that had killed humans. She didn't kill innocent ones. She'd never kill a werewolf that never hurt anyone… right?

Blake shakes her head softly, at a loss for what to say. She isn't sure how to handle the faint trickle of uncertainty in herself and what she's been doing nearly her whole life. "I just… want to make sure my dog's alright. That's all I want."

He shoves the key card at Blake and brushes past her so roughly that it causes her to stumble back a couple steps.

And then he's gone.

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A/N: Woo! So Derek makes his first appearance, though Blake doesn't know his name yet. Any thoughts, questions, or complaints? That little review box is the perfect place. ;)


	4. The Trade

A/N: Hey guys! I decided that Tuesday looks like a good day to post, so yeah. Also, I'm a little discouraged by the lack of reviews so far! I've got two reviews so far, both by the lovely Lycan Lover 411, but I know that more people read it than that! So waddaya say, you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours? ;)

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After the guy in the leather jacket left for the second time, for good if she's lucky because he wasn't very pleasant company, Blake tried to use the key card to get back into the hotel. Unfortunately, it didn't work. She figures it's because it's a couple minutes after check out time and whatever code that's on the card doesn't work anymore. It's definitely a little frustrating seeing as how she got verbally assaulted by some homicidal jerk in a leather jacket to get it back. She decides to check in to one of the sleazy motels she saw yesterday when she took Wess to the vet.

Was it really just yesterday when that happened? Blake sighs and presses her cold fingers to her eyes, trying to quell the rising headache at the thought of that's changed in twenty-four hours. She pushes open the door to a small one-level motel that looks pretty clean and approaches the front desk. She can hear a heartbeat in the back room, but they haven't seemed to have noticed her yet. She awkwardly rocks back and forth for a second, wondering when they're going to come help her before she spots a bell sitting on the counter. She gives it a little tap, smiling at the cheerful little, _'ding!' _it gives off.

Soon after the bell, a middle aged woman with a plain face and tightly secured bun appears from the back room, smiling kindly, "How may I help you—oh," she blinks as she catches sight of Blake. "You look terrible, dear. Is everything okay?"

Blake smiles apologetically, "I'm sorry I look like such a disaster, my fiancé and I got into got into a wreck a couple hours ago and I needed a place to stay while he's in the hospital," she says, ignoring the irregular beat her heart gives as she lies through her smiling teeth.

The woman nods fervently, "Of course, of course," she says. Soon after that Blake is checked into room 23, which is on the far side of the motel. She suspects the woman gave her a discount, seeing as the as the advertised rate was higher than the one she got.

She must've been quite the sight though, leaves in her hair, dirt on her face, giant holes ripped into her jeans, and huge red and black blood stains on her _white_ shirt. The black blood kind of looked more like oil stains, though. Maybe the people looking at her so judgmentally would assume she's a mechanic that got injured on the job and then upon being released from the hospital went to the bar to celebrate and got wasted and spent the night in the woods. That sounds plausible. Maybe she should start telling people that's what she does for a living—fixing cars and getting wasted.

Blake grins at her own little joke just as the door to room 12 opens and a little old woman with thick-lensed glasses steps out. She glances at the grinning blood-covered woman before doing a double-take. After a moment, she takes her glasses off to wipe them on her floral patterned shirt and puts them back on, only to give a little gasp as the grinning blood-covered woman's still there.

"Excuse me, ma'am," Blake says cordially, nodding to the elderly woman as she walks past her. The little old woman's heart starts beating so fast that Blake winces, hoping that the old woman's heart can handle that kind of excitement. Blake feels guilty for scaring her, even if it was completely an accident.

"Goodness," the old woman breathes once she thinks Blake's out of ear shot and puts a hand over her heart.

Blake giggles guiltily and high-tails it to her room, trying not to scare anyone else to the point of a heart attack. When she arrives, she shoves the key into the lock and opens the door. The room inside is… a little unique as far as motels go. The walls are lilac and covered with a floral pattern, while the carpet is a deep royal purple. All of the furniture is various shades of mismatched purple and the bed spread is plum and violet zebra print.

Blake grimaces, it looks like Barney the Dinosaur got brutally murdered and then used to decorate in here. Besides the fact that everything is purple, she can smell the previous occupants. She can tell that it's been meticulously cleaned, but the scents are still there, reminding her that she's only one of many to spend the night in this purple nightmare. Sighing, she grabs a fresh change of clothes out of her bag and tosses it on the bed. Well, maybe fresh isn't the best word since that leather jacket wearing jerk tossed all of her clothes on the ground. She frowns, that's a little unfair, he DID save her life. But then he did come back and ask, rather rudely, why she hadn't offed herself yet. But he did give her that heads up about Wess being gone. But before that he, again quite rudely, pointed out how Wess bit her. Then he snuck up on her when she had her pants down and insulted her for not, 'using her senses to her advantage.'

Yeah, on the whole, that experience was pretty negative. Except for when he brought her back from the dead, that was kind of nice.

Blake opens the mulberry colored door to the bathroom but neglects to shut it as she sees the interior of the bathroom, which is just as ridiculously, hideously purple as the rest of the room. Seriously, how'd they get a hold of a purple bathtub, toilet and sink? Not at the same place, apparently, seeing as how they're all clashing shades. She shrugs it off, turning the hot water tap on and then pulling the knob at the top of the faucet to switch the water over to the shower head. Cool water jets from the shower for a second before it turns into the same boiling temperature as it was from the faucet. Sometimes she just needs a hot shower to burn away the experiences of the last day... and seeing how in the last day she's been turned into a werewolf and lost her only friend, there's a lot to burn.

Blake carefully strips her shirt off and shimmies out of her jeans, only to find that even her bra is unsalvageable on account of the two different tones of blood tainting it. Grumbling angrily, she unhooks the garment and flings it to the floor before stepping out of her panties and kicking them into the pile of soiled clothes. Every article of clothing she was wearing is now just trash. That's not so bad until you realize that Blake only had three changes of clothes, two in her backpack and the one on her body. Now, she only has two changes of clothes.

And her coat! That got blood all over it too! She sighs sadly and rubs her hands over her face. That was her only jacket, she's never going to be able to get all of the blood out of the light grey material, especially since it had all night to set and become permanent. Maybe this all wouldn't be such a huge problem if she wasn't so broke that sometimes hobos threw change at her_. _

It doesn't matter. There's nothing she can do anymore. What's done is done.

Blake sets her jaw stubbornly and steps right into the scalding spray of water, letting it burn trails into her skin as she goes about grinding away the layer of filth from her body.

It shouldn't feel like Blake's washing herself away along with the dirt, but it does. In one day, everything she's ever known has flopped on its head. From the moment she could understand, her parents had drilled into her guidelines and rules and warnings and commands. "_Always finish the hunt, never abandon it._" "_If there's not a bullet in its brain, it's still alive._" "_Never let an alpha get close._" "_Press your advantage and never lose the element of surprise._"

"_If you get bitten, you're dead. No exceptions._"

But there she is, making an exception. She's been a werewolf for… she's not sure how long, maybe since the moment the alpha's teeth broke skin, maybe since she woke up in the alley.

Does it matter?

No. It doesn't.

Would her parents be upset with her for not doing her duty and letting the alpha get away and… for still being alive?

Of course they would. They would try to finish her off themselves if they were still alive. And if they could see her now, they'd be rolling in their graves.

In short, it's impossible for her to go back to being a hunter. She's already broken so many rules. The word is probably out by now and her entire network of informants will close their doors, one by one. There's not a single sane person left who would help her. She and Kate never stayed in a town after making contact with the pack, but that's because the pack ripped up their roots and legged it as soon as possible. The pack's already gone and Kate's already gone. Meaning that if she wants to find them, she has to either suddenly access to the same network of information that has now shut their doors to her or find some way to track Kate on her own. But she had no idea how to do that. Kate was going to be traveling by car, meaning that she could cover much more distance than Blake could ever hope, seeing as Blake's only mode of transportation is her legs.

But maybe there's one person who's insane who could help her. Blake blinks at the revelation that there might still be one person who's willing to help her. That woman certainly might be crazy enough, but her help would be a two-sided sword. There would be a catch, a condition.

Good thing Blake's in a little too deep to care about the shackles she'd be putting on in turn for receiving this help.

Blake spends roughly an hour and a half in the shower and by the time she gets out, her skin is as pruned and wrinkly as an elephant's. She'd be the color of a lobster, too, if she hadn't decided to turn the cold water on halfway through her shower. She wrings her hair out, letting all of the excess water drip back into the bathtub, and wraps a huge towel around her in a shade of neon purple that reminds her of Mardi Gras. It's so large it wraps around her twice and goes from her armpits nearly to her knees. It makes her wonder what kinds of patrons are usual for room 23 to have such large towels. Or maybe it was the only size available in such an eye-searing purple.

Blake goes over to her backpack and pulls her dead phone out of one of the smaller pockets along with a charger. The only open plug is in the tiny aisle between the bed and wall, where there's only two feet of room. She mutters bitterly to herself and situates herself on the ground next to the plug. Her charger cord is only three feet long and the plug is close to the ground, giving her no choice but to sit on the floor if she wants to make a call right away.

Blake plugs her phone in and waits for the little red light to pop up before she turns it on. Once her phone is done booting, she flips through her contracts until she comes to the 'S' names. Taking a deep breath, she selects the one named 'Starla,' and waits for it to start ringing. Starla is five feet tall, plump, elderly, and absolutely coated with freckles. They covered every bit of visible skin and it wasn't too far off of a bet to say they were everywhere else as well.

"Hello?" Starla's voice enters through the speakers.

"Hello Starla," Blake says politely, "it's Blake."

"Oh, I know who you are, dear!" Starla laughs and Blake can hear the clinking of some sort of silverware. "How are you, Blake? You know, it's been so long since I've seen you and that precious dog of yours! I still remember babysitting you while your parents were out, do you remember that, dear? Why don't you come on down to Oregon sometime to visit? I could have my grandson Archibald-" from somewhere in the house Blake heard another voice call, "It's ARCHIE, grams!" but Starla kept going as if she hadn't heard, "—come and pick you up."

"Um," Blake swallows, not sure how to react, "no thank you, Starla. I'm somewhere in New York right now and I wouldn't want to be a bother." Of course she still remembers spending time in Starla's house. Her parents would drop her off there for weeks at a time and she had to sleep in the guest room, which was decorated exclusively in porcelain dolls, quilts that smelled like the elderly, and hundreds of dog figurines made of glass, porcelain, ceramic, stone and even wood. Some of them had real fur glued on. Blake remembers accidentally breaking one when she was much younger and throwing it under the bed to hide it. She also remembers the resulting spanking.

"Are you sure, dear? I'm making sugar cookies and using the cutest little cookie cutters you've ever seen! They're in the shape of poodles, isn't that cute?" Starla asks, the clinking of silverware picking back up in the background, which is now identifiable as Starla mixing the cookie dough.

"I'm sure, thank you," Blake says robotically, her heart picking up a frantic tempo. "And actually, I wanted to talk to you about my dog."

"What about the sweet darlin'?" Starla asks curiously, concern entering her voice. "He's not hurt, is he?"

"No," Blake answers out of habit, before wincing, "well, I don't think he is."

"You don't _think_ he's hurt?" Starla asks coldly. "Or do you not _know?_ Which is it, dear? You know how I hate answers that are imprecise," she snaps shrilly.

Blake flinches; she's always _hated_ calling Starla on account of her mood swings. This phone call was just eons worse because of what she had to say next. "Before you hear it through the grapevine, I want you to hear it from me," she pauses to take a deep breath. "I was on a hunt with Kate Argent tracking a nomadic pack. We whittled it down to two members, one beta and the alpha. We thought we killed the alpha but somehow we miscalculated and he… bit me," she exhales slowly, waiting for Starla to pick up in the shrill voice of hers.

"Then why aren't you dead?" Starla asks simply, dropping all pretenses of being a sweet old grandmother. Why is everyone asking Blake that lately? Is there no one who'll care about her past her impending code-enforced suicide? "You know there are no exceptions," Starla reminds firmly. Of course Blake knows there are no exceptions. That's all she's ever been told. It doesn't matter who you are or what you've done, if you're a hunter and you're bitten, you're dead. No exceptions. There are never exceptions.

"I know, but-"

"That sounds a lot like you're going to make an excuse, Blake," Starla interrupts sharply, tut-tutting. "You know how I hate excuses."

"Starla," Blake says gently, if she picks up a 'tone,' with the old woman, she'll never get the help she needs. "Please listen to me. Kate Argent has taken my dog, and if he stays with her, he will die. All I need is a little help in finding her location so I can get him back."

"How do you know that, dear?" Starla asks. "Dear Katie has always been the example of a fine upstanding hunter," she doesn't say it, but Blake can hear the underlying accusation, '_unlike you, Blake._' "You don't know that she'd harm that precious dog."

"If…" Blake swallows thickly, hating the words that are about to come out of her mouth, "if you help me save Wess, you can keep him." If there's one thing that Starla's passionate about, it's dogs. Stepping foot into her house was like walking straight into shrine devoted to the worshipping of dogs.

"And after that you'll do what you're supposed to?" Starla questions, her tone starkly disapproving and expectant. Two things Blake isn't sure how to deal with. "You'll end your miserable existence?"

"Yes," Blake agrees breathlessly, licking her lips in a nervous tic. "I'll bring Wess to you and… and I'll do it."

"It's been so long since I've experienced the joy of killing a werewolf…" Starla says wistfully, making Blake's stomach churn in preparation for the predictable next words. "Why don't you let me do it, dear? I'm sure it's what your parents would want, since they can't be here to do it themselves."

"No," Blake snaps, "I'll go on my own terms," she hisses, feeling a spark of anger flare up at the older woman's suggestion. That's way too much. She can't hand over that kind of power to someone else.

"Oh dear, that's no good at all," Starla clucks, her tongue clicking in a manner that's supposed to make Blake feel ashamed of herself. Too bad Blake's too far gone for that. "I guess I'll just have to keep Kate Argent's location to myself. You'll never get Wess back without me, dear."

Blake's body goes cold, but her mind whirs into overdrive. Is she really willing to do this? To hand Wess over to this woman… and then let her come up with her own way to kill Blake? She doesn't have to think for long, the answer becomes immediately apparent. Yes. She is, she is long as Wess is alright. "Okay," Blake breathes, feeling the cold hand of manipulation squeeze around her heart. "I agree."

"That's wonderful, sugar," Starla says, sounding like the cat that got the cream. "I'll call you when I hear anything."

Then Starla hangs up and Blake is left to clean up the aftermath of signing a deal with the devil. Wordlessly, she drops her phone and curls in on herself, burrowing her face into the stale material of the towel and trying to blink back the hopelessness that floods through her. Now that she's off the phone with Starla, she can hear an extra heartbeat and it's standing right outside her door.

Blake gives a muffled groan of irritation and pushes herself to her feet. Of course someone came to disturb her during her pity-party. It would've been too convenient otherwise. She rubs her face and grabs her clothes off of the bed. She better change before answering the door. Though, she does find it strange that they haven't knocked yet. She pulls a bra and panties on before yanking a light slate grey long sleeved shirt over her head. After that, she wriggles into her worn black denim jeans.

She crosses the room in a couple strides, intent on giving the creeper outside a piece of her mind. "How long were you just going to stand there?" she growls after ripping the door open. After seeing who it is, her face falls. "It's you," she grumbles, "of course it's you. How'd you find me?" she questions, glaring.

The man from the woods steps into her motel room, forcing Blake to jump back or have her bare toes crunched beneath his shoes. Blake puts a hand on his chest and shoves him back a couple feet, "What the hell are you doing here?" she asks venomously. She's just so fed up with this situation and being helpless to do anything about it. She hates not having Wess, she hates being manipulated, she hates having to sell her soul to get the simplest of help, and she just _hates_ the man in front of her right now.

Blake yelps sharply as a splitting pain shoots a jagged path through her brain. She clutches her head and stumbles back a few steps, giving the man from before the needed room to come in and shut the door behind him. She can feel the wolf inside of her rising to the forefront of her mind, crushing all other thoughts beneath it like blades of grass under the hooves of a moose.

"Control it!" he snaps, not even glancing back at Blake as she digs her fingers into her scalp. Instead, he maneuvers all four of the locks on the door into place, making Blake's heart rate spike.

Her glowing sapphire eyes watch him fearfully and each lock that clicks into places makes her flinch harder than the last. "No, no, no!" she howls, her features immediately shifting into those of a werewolf as she throws herself at him with the express intent to sink her claws into his throat.

He catches her by the neck and slams her to the ground, "You have to learn to control it!" he yells, his face uncomfortably close to her own snarling face. But every ounce of humanity in Blake has been replaced by a rabid wolf that would gnaw a limb off to escape. She starts to get up, but he throws her back to the ground, pinning her there. One of his knees pins her wrist, while his body pins her torso. When her other arm swings up to gouge her claws into him, he catches her wrist in a vice, grabbing her pinkie finger and unrepentantly snapping it. It brings her back to herself, but not enough to chase the angry azure glow out of her eyes.

Blake screams, writhing to get out from under the man from earlier. He's pressing down on her, trapping her beneath him. She isn't sure how she got there or what he did, but there's a horrible pain in her hand that spreads down into her arm like fire. Her eyes dart nervously around the room as she tries to piece together what happened. Then she catches sight of the locked door and her heart rate spikes again. "Unlock the door," she moans, struggling to hold on to her humanity, which slips through her fingers like water. She's fighting to hang on with everything she has, but her concentration is breaking more and more as she stares the door with all of its locks clicked into place.

"Unlock the door, NOW!" she screams, claw bursting through her fingertips as she uses her one free, though clawed, hand to grasp at her head.

He pushes off of Blake, careful to avoid any swipes she might take at him, but all she does is curl into a ball, bringing her other hand up to dig into her scalp. Blood begins to trickle out of wounds lost in her mess of hair, but she doesn't pay it any mind. Instead, she tracks him by the thump of his footsteps as he slowly crosses the room and undoes the locks on the door. She can hear as each individual lock is undone, and she allows herself a tenuous breath of relief as the last one is unlocked.

Blake uncurls herself and scoots across the floor until her back hits a wall, calming her down further. "Are you here to ask me why I haven't offed myself again?" she spits, her entire face twisting with the depth of her hatred.

"No," he says evenly, watching her with those flat, uninterested eyes of his. "I'm here to make sure you don't do _that,_" he points at her still quivering form as she comes down off of the high of the fear, "in public and kill someone."

"Why do you care?!" Blake snarls, her eyes still that intensely flickering sapphire that hints at another impending meltdown.

"Because if _you_ shift in public and kill someone, _I'll_ have to deal with the hunters that flood this place!" he snarls in response, taking the same tone as Blake. "I'm here to teach you _control._"

Blake draws a shuddering breath, the glare never leaving her face. "I still have no idea who you are. What can _you_ possibly know?!"

He scowls, "For one thing, I know that you're angrier than usual because of the full moon tomorrow. I also know that without me, you won't know what to do, you'll be clueless," he snaps, and to Blake's ears it sounds a lot like he's threatening her. It sounds like he wants something from her. Everyone wants something from her.

"Why would the full moon have any effect on my mood?!" Blake yells, lurching to her feet. Her hand gives a steady throb, reminding her that her pinkie's still broken, while her head feels like it's going to explode on account of the horrible pressure building behind her eyes. "Just leave me the hell alone!" she screams, pressing her hands to her eyes and hoping to quell the headache.

"Think of that dog, it's your anchor," he throws back as he shrugs Blake's anger off without even a twitch. It's like he doesn't even care that she wants to claw his throat out. Her conversation with Starla comes back to mind abruptly. Everything she's doing, every struggle she's facing… it's all for Wess. She just has to survive this disease, this lycanthropy, long enough to find Kate and get Wess back. That's all.

Blake's heart starts to slow down, her breaths becoming deeper and more stable until finally that lingering glow of sapphire disappears and softens into her natural blue eyes. All she has to do is find Wess and everything will be okay. But after that she has to hand Wess over to Starla and who knows what Starla's going to do to him? What if Starla gets rid of him? What if she gives him to the pound? What if she beats him? What if she kills him?

Blake groans weakly, electric blue flashing to life in her eyes once more, eclipsing the usual dark denim blue. She twines her hands through her hair, claws erupting through her fingertips as she begins to lose control again.

He gives a frustrated growl, striding over to where Blake threw her bag before ripping through it once more. It seems like every time he's around, he somehow ends up going through her belongings. She doesn't like it, she doesn't like him going through her things. They're _hers_. A quiet rumbling begins in her chest, a possessive growl that he chooses to ignore. She isn't looking at him, but she can hear him approaching. When his shoes enter her field of vision, she doesn't even think as one of her hands whip out to catch him across the stomach and open three jagged slashes on his skin that quickly begin leaking blood. The next thing she knows, an object is shoved under her nose and when she breathes in, all of her anger floods away.

The claws retract back into Blake's fingers as she reaches up to carefully take Wess's collar out of the man's hand. It's so smooth and familiar in her fingers, that she can't help the bittersweet smile that pulls at her lips. Finally, she picks her head up to look at him, finding him to be closer than she thought.

Completely grounded now, Blake thinks back on her behavior and it causes her shoulders to sag. "I'm sorry," she says simply, watching the skin on his stomach slowly start the process of knitting back together. Everything she's said to him since he appeared in the doorway, she now realizes, was uncharacteristic of her. Even her thoughts and feelings were unusual. Is this werewolves were always dealing with? Suddenly the thought of accidentally killing someone isn't so hard to believe.

"It's the influence of the full moon tomorrow," he says in his usual hard tone, which never changed over the course of the encounter. "Tomorrow at eight in the afternoon, meet me in the same forest behind the hotel. I'm going to help you cope with the full moon," he informs her, turning to leave.

"Wait," Blake gasps, "how can you expect me to trust you if I don't even know who you are?" she asks, pushing away from the wall to walk a couple steps closer to him.

"Because if you don't show up, I'm going to rip your throat out," he says, hardly even sparing her a backwards glance.

"Please," Blake asks again, tired of being jerked around by everyone around her. If she can just get his name, she'll be happy. "My name is Blake Matthews; I used to be a hunter. I used to have a German Shepherd named Wess. And right now, I'm still alive," she pauses and swallows the words, '_in the next few months that will change,_' because this isn't a pity-party and he doesn't care about her. "Please just tell me your name."

"Derek Hale," he says at last, though he still refuses to look at her. After that, he snaps the door open and is gone, leaving Blake to the sudden silence.

Blake gives a ragged breath and collapses onto the vibrantly colored bedspread, beads of sweat coursing down her face. She needs another shower. There are two more problems to burn away with the hot water; Starla Thelwell and Derek Hale.

* * *

A/N: So that's it for this chapter. Blake finally learned Derek's name, yay! I'm sure some of you have a couple thoughts on Starla, and I'd love to hear them. What do you think is going to happen? Thoughts, theories, conspiracies? FEED MY MUSE. :D


	5. The Jobs

A/N: Hello there! I think I've decided to post on Tuesdays every week. I'm certainly going to try, anyway! Read on, dear ones!

Guest: I'm so happy you're enjoying it so far! Derek's going to help her in the future, but not quite like that... though that is a good idea! :) Haha, Starla's a little off her rocker, I know. But she's supposed to be that way. Thanks for the review!

* * *

"Okay," Blake murmurs to herself, watching her reflection intently. "I can do this." She thinks she can, anyway. But that's never been much of a vote of confidence. At one time she thought she could continue being a hunter until the day she died. But look at how that plan panned out. There's not a single hunter out there who wouldn't kill her if they came across her. There's a completely different set of rules for a hunter who got turned, there's no sympathy, no exceptions. Her chest tightens uncomfortably, her breathing speeding up as she nervously breaks eye-contact with herself to stare at her clenched fists. Everything she thought she could rely on is gone. She thought that she'd never be without Wess until the day he died. She thought she'd be by his side no matter what. She thought that werewolves would always and forever be the enemy, but now she understands them more. She sympathizes with them and what they go through.

Blake drags her eyes back up the mirror, finding her eyes to be a searing azure. It's the color of the hottest part of a lit candle, the blue flame that clings to the wick. The color looks so foreign on her face, in her naturally narrowed eyes. She sighs and the color disappears from her eyes as if someone had blown the flame out and her natural dark denim blue irises return. She turns her face this way and that, taking note of her features. They're so much more interesting than they were before, now that she knows that when she gets angry they have the possibility of changing.

The first thing she notes is her eyes and their perpetually narrowed shape which, as a default, look angry even if she's not actually angry. That effect is compounded by her slightly upward angled eyebrows. It's the same with her mouth, the very slight downturn of her lips giving her the appearance of someone who's always frowning, or, at the least, always mildly irritated. Her nose is as non-descript as they come, gently sloped with a slight upturn at the end. But the combination of her glaring eyes and frowning lips gives her the appearance of… well, a very unfriendly person. People always think she's scowling at them, when really it's just the neutral, relaxed state of her face.

Sighing, Blake runs a hand town her face. Stress has painted deep black circles her eyes that serve to make her face look _even less _friendly than before. She didn't sleep very well last night. Usually Wess curled up at the end of the bed when she slept and warmed her feet, without him the bed was cold and empty. Besides, even if she had Wess she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about her newly-contracted lycanthropy. It was that one bite that threw her on her ass and made the world kick into warp speed, leaving her in the dust. Everything seems to be crumbling around her.

This would be the part where Blake dramatically declares, "This just can't get any worse!" and then life, in a similarly dramatic fashion, proves her wrong. But it already is worse, she doesn't have to wait. It's worse because she doesn't have enough money left to pay for another night in the motel and she has an 'appointment' with one suspicious Derek Hale who's going to meet her in the woods where she almost died and 'help her cope with the full moon.' Oh, and if she doesn't show up he's going to hunt her down and rip her throat out.

Blake flings herself on the bed and wraps herself in the comforter, she can detect the lingering scents of the other people to use this room, but she's can't really find it within herself to care. A nasty ache in her stomach reminds her that she hasn't eaten since… she can't remember the last time she's eaten. The stress of worrying about Wess stopped her from eating the day she took him to the vet, and the day after that she spent most of the morning dying in the forest, after that she checked into the motel room, took a ridiculously long shower, had a painful conversation with Starla where she agreed to let Starla murder her and keep her dog, and then she had a very violent clash with Derek Hale, who threw her on the ground, broke her pinkie, and then threatened her.

You can't blame a woman for being reluctant to leave her room after a day like that. At least the tap water here tasted alright.

Blake's stomach lets loose an explosive growl, causing her to groan. It's twenty minutes away from checkout time, but she wants to wait as long as possible because she doesn't have anywhere left to go after this. There's no more money for another room. There's only money for three 'proper' meals, but who knows how many if she eats out of convenience stores.

Blake rolls out of bed and jams her feet into her boots, sluggishly tying the laces. They're plain work boots she bought out of a thrift shop a couple months back. They're anything but pretty or delicate. But they were cheap and in perfect condition. Plus, they're good for walking, which she's going to be doing a lot of now that she doesn't have a ride.

Blake grabs a hair-tie out of her backpack and scoops her golden brown hair up into a high pony. It would be darker in color if she could manage to stay out of the sun, but alas, the majority of her time was spent outside. Besides being brown, her hair has a slight natural wave to it and it never does anything pretty, like bounce or shine. It's dull and not very soft.

At least this lycanthropy disease has given her flawless skin.

Blake gives an ugly snort at the thought and whisks out the door, going to check out of the room that's sure to be the last roof over her head for a while. She doesn't even allow herself a longing glance back at her purple haven.

* * *

After checking out of her motel, Blake grabbed a quick, cheap, bite to eat at the convenience store which consisted of a stale corndog kept under heat-lamps all day and ketchup packets. The corndog was cheap and the ketchup packets were free, which is always good. She filled her reusable water bottle with tap water before she left the motel room, so she was good on water for a while. After that she went and sat in one of those 24 hour diners, the kind that will let you sit there all day as long as you buy another coffee each hour you're there.

Armed with a marker and a copy of the newspaper, Blake parks herself in one of the booths and orders a small coffee and a glass of water. The scent of cooking food is driving her crazy, though. That puny corndog wasn't enough.

Blake blinks, her eyes catching sight of an ad that reads, "SURROGATE MOTHERS NEEDED. ALL EXPENSES PAID. $28,000 PAYCHECK." She really had no idea that being a surrogate mother was a job, never mind the fact that it was paying $28,000. Even if she was interested, which she's really, really not because pregnant women give her the heebie jeebies, there's no way she's going to live for nine more months. It seems like everything around her is going out of its way to remind her that her life has a nearing expiration date.

There are a couple other ads that catch her eye, but nothing that would provide a short-term job. All of the ads want people who are willing to stay with the company and work their way up the ladder, and Blake just really isn't able to do that. She needs to find Kate and get Wess back and she needs to somehow make it over to Missouri to pick her car up. How's she going to get over there without any money? Well, maybe she could hitchhike. But even if she hitchhikes, how's she going to eat and where's she going to stay?

Blake moans in frustration, banging her head against the table hard enough to rattle the silverware.

"You really shouldn't do that, dear," the waitress comments as she slides into the booth. She looks to be in her mid-thirties with warm brown eyes and dark hair.

Blake cringes at the pet name, 'dear,' being reminded of Starla immediately, but picks her head up and gives the waitress a small smile anyway. "Sorry," she mutters sheepishly, reading the tag on the woman's work apron. Jacqueline is her name. Blake suddenly feels guilty for not taking note earlier, even though this woman has been serving her for two hours.

"What seems to be the problem?" Jacqueline asks.

Blake glances away uneasily, not sure what to say. "I…" she pauses, her eyes uncomfortably dry. What's she supposed to say? A psycho kidnapped her dog and she sold her soul to the devil to try and get him back? She has to go out into the forest to meet a man who probably wants to kill her? She's so poor that she can't even afford a motel room and has been _seriously_ considering skipping out on the check for the coffee?

No, of course not. She wasn't raised to dump all of her problems on others. She also wasn't raised to even _consider_ dodging a check. She can already feel the guilt burning away in her stomach for having the thought in the first place.

Blake shakes her head softly, raising and dropping her shoulders in a despondent matter. "I'm just looking for a job," she says in a forced casual tone.

"Why don't I ask the owner about you getting a job here?" Jacqueline suggests, smiling at Blake, her eyes crinkling kindly at the corners.

Blake's eyes furrow and she purses her lips, "You… would do that for me?" she asks slowly, trying to keep accusing tone of suspicion out of her voice. Why would this woman, who has no idea of what type of person Blake is, help her?

Jacqueline pats Blake's hand and Blake isn't able to hold back the flinch that results at the contact. This causes the older woman to frown, though she covers it up nicely with a smile. "You really look like you could use a hand," she says, sliding out of the booth. Blake assumes she's going to talk to the owner. She takes a deep breath and releases it slowly through her nose, trying to roll some of the tension out of her shoulders. This is good. She might have a job. Now, if only she could find a place to stay… and hopefully she'll make enough to money to have a little left over after she pays for where ever she's going to stay.

Blake drops her head into her hands and rubs her forehead, trying to massage away the coming headache. Though, her head doesn't really hurt, it's more of a precautionary habit she's picked up.

"Harvey?" Jacqueline's voice greets Blake's ears, causing her to pick her head up in curiosity. "There's a girl out there who's looking for a job, do we have anything open?" Jacqueline's talking to her boss, as promised.

"Again, Jackie?" a male voice asks, followed closely by the sizzling of a griddle. "You know I can't give jobs to every stray that wanders in here." Blake's cheeks flush in indignation as her pride takes a major blow. Though, 'stray,' does seem to be a good way to describe her now. Technically, she is an omega, a werewolf without a pack… a lone wolf. And all hunters know that omegas never survive for long.

"C'mon, Harvey, I think she could really use this job," Jacqueline says, "you should see the poor girl, I've never seen anyone with worse rings under their eyes, plus her cheeks are starting to hollow out." Blake's head snaps up, turning in the direction of the kitchen. That's even worse than being called a stray… and what's this about her cheeks? They looked fine this morning! She rustles through her backpack for her compact mirror, inspecting her cheeks from every angle and poking at them to try to gauge their squishiness. The rings under her eyes aren't even that dark, it's not like she hasn't slept in a week. Her shoulders slump and her cheeks burn bright cherry red as she realizes that Jacqueline's exaggerating to try and get her the job.

It's an amazingly nice thing to do, especially since Jacqueline doesn't even know Blake, but she's a little uncomfortable with using pity to try and get the job. She didn't mean to get a discount for the motel room, the car crash was just the first thing she could come up with.

There's a heavy sigh and a terse silence between Jacqueline and Harvey, "We just had one quit the night shift. If this stray is open to working nine to six every day, she can have the job," Harvey says reluctantly. Blake sighs with relief, one of her problems now looking a little less problematic. She has a job, now she only has to hold out till payday to get see about getting a room. Then after that she has to save up enough money to get to Missouri or wait until Starla has information on Kate.

"Thank you," Jacqueline says happily, "I'm sure she'll appreciate it!"

"Yeah, yeah," Harvey grumbles good-naturedly, "she better."

Jacqueline pushes the door to the kitchen open and comes back to Blake's booth grinning, and Blake can't help but smile back. "Good news," Jacqueline chirps, though Blake already knows. "Harvey says you can come in during the nightshift."

Blake grins, "Thank you so much, I can't tell you how much this means to me," she says earnestly, she still isn't sure why Jacqueline's helping her, but she's not going to turn it down.

Jacqueline smiles and gently touches Blake's hand, moving noticeably slower than the first time she did it. "Don't mention it," she says, waving off Blake's gratitude. "Is there any way you could come in tonight?"

Blake starts to nod eagerly, not wanting to let Jacqueline down after she stuck her neck out like that to give Blake a job, but then she remembers that Derek Hale wants to meet her in the forest at eight PM. He says he's going to help her with the full moon, but she doesn't know what he means by that. And generally the full moon is a whole night affair. If she doesn't turn up, he'll certainly look for her and he's definitely not shy. He already showed up at her motel room, why would he have any reservations with barging into a diner to call her out?

"I-I can't, I just realized I promised someone I'd—I promised someone I'd be somewhere," Blake says, tripping over her words. Her eyes dart to the side nervously as she tries to figure out why she'd stuttered so much while saying that. "I'm sorry," she apologizes. It must be the stress getting to her.

Blake's stammering doesn't escape Jacqueline's notice, the older woman frowns, watching Blake observantly. "It's not a problem, dear," there's that pet name again. "Are you going to be able to make it tomorrow night?"

"Yes," Blake nods quickly, "I can do that. Thank you so much."

Jacqueline smiles softly, "I've been where you are, you know? It's hard, but you're strong… and you can get away from whoever's doing this to you. I know it," she gently touches Blake's shoulder before going to serve the other patrons.

Blake blinks, confused at the older woman's words. What'd she mean by that? Self-consciously, she pulls her compact mirror back out of her backpack and stares deeply at her ringed eyes, slightly gaunt cheeks, and limp tangled hair. Groaning, her forehead thumps back onto the table, further agitating the silverware.

Jacqueline thinks Blake is being abused. Of course she does. With how twitchy and nervous Blake's been, along with her somewhat ragged appearance, it's not a hard assumption to make. Pressing her cold fingers to her eyes, she takes a deep breath. It doesn't matter. It's not like she's entering any beauty pageants. Somehow her appearance is one of the last things she needs to worry about right now.

Blake folds the newspaper and stores it in her backpack, waiting for Jacqueline to walk by so she can order that huge breakfast platter on the menu. It comes with eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, hash browns and pancakes. All of that food's probably going to make her sick after not eating in so long but she doesn't care. It's also pretty expensive, but she's worried less now that she has a job lined up. Maybe a meal will help her replace some of the padding in her cheeks and look less homeless. Even though, she is _actually_ homeless.

* * *

After stuffing her face at the diner and leaving Jacqueline the biggest tip she could afford, Blake heads back to the motel she left that morning. She's always hated doing this, but if she's going to be working tomorrow night, she needs a place to clean up and make herself presentable. She takes a deep breath to calm herself and slowly pushes the door open, catching the attention of the woman working the counter immediately. It's the same one she talked to the first time she checked in, the one she lied to and said she got into a car crash with her fiancé.

"Hello," Blake says smiling sheepishly. She really wishes she didn't have to do this, but it's probably the only way she'll have a roof over her head any time soon.

"Oh, hello, how are you and your fiancé?" the woman asks, giving Blake a kind smile. "I'm so glad he got released early, I'm sure you must be happy as well."

Blake blinks, wondering how on earth the woman came to that conclusion, but it doesn't quite matter. She just has to play along. "Oh yes, I'm very happy that we're both okay. We're lucky we didn't get hurt seriously," she says, even though she doesn't have any idea what this woman means by her fiancé being 'released early.' As far as Blake knows, he doesn't exist. How could he be released early? That doesn't matter either, she decides. "I, um, came here because I was wondering if I could talk to the owner?" she asks, trying to steer the conversation away from her and her 'fiancé.'

"Oh," the woman blinks and straightens her posture, surprised at Blake's question. "I'm the owner," she replies, holding a hand out across the front desk for Blake to shake. "My name's Camellia Wise, it's nice to meet you."

Blake takes Camellia's hand and shakes it gently, mindful of her new strength. "My name's Blake Matthews, it's nice to meet you as well," she says. "I wanted to speak to you to see if I could somehow work in exchange for a room here."

Camellia purses her lips thoughtfully, thinking over Blake's suggestion. "Well," she says before pausing for a second, "my sister Holly is usually in charge of cleaning all of the rooms. I don't think she'd mind having help. How long did you want to work for your room?"

Blake smiles, happy Camellia's willing to let her work for her stay. "Long enough for me and my fiancé to get our car repaired," she replies. By that she means, 'long enough for me to earn enough money to make it to Missouri.'

Camellia nods, humming in understanding. "We can definitely work something out," she says, "let me call Holly real quick, she just started her rounds."

Blake nods and grins, another weight being lifted off of her shoulders. She has a job and she has a place to stay. She'll probably end up working more than 12 hours a day, starting with her first diner shift tomorrow night, but that's fine. It's just going to help her save money even quicker if she works for her room instead of paying for it with her cash from the diner. She rubs her face and takes a deep breath. This might actually work. She might actually be able to do this.

Now all she has to do is survive the meeting with Derek later.

* * *

A/N: This wasn't the most exciting chapter, I know. But the next one is the meeting with Derek and that's gonna be fun. ;) Thanks so much for the reviews on last chapter! It would mean so much to me if I could get the same amount of reviews- or more!- on this one. I love you guys and wanna know how y'all feel! Did you have a favorite line from this chapter? Was there something a character did that confused you? Do you have an idea about what's going to happen at the meeting with Derek? Thanks so much, hope you enjoyed!


	6. The Meeting

A/N: Hey guys! I know last chapter wasn't the most exciting, BUT this chapter makes up for it. (I hope.) There's so much Derek in this chapter, it's a little crazy. He and Blake still aren't on the best terms, but they're getting there... eventually. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

After working from 1 PM to 7 PM, Holly, Camellia's sister, finally decided that Blake had earned her room. She only briefly returned to the purple room to shower and change into her sleeping clothes, a dark grey tank top and some loose black basketball shorts. She didn't want to ruin her second to last good pair of clothes mucking around in the forest. After changing, she made her way to the place where she met Derek Hale for the first time, which was, all in all, a rather bad time for everyone involved. She still isn't sure what he did to make that infection go away or what he was even doing in the forest at the same time as she was in the first place. The more she thinks about it, the more she realizes that she knows absolutely nothing about this man aside from his name and the fact that he wants Kate Argent dead. Well, that's just great. She's in the perfect setting for a horror movie. Some dark, mysterious, and handsome man is going to come and whisk her away and when he gets her alone he's going to brutally murder and chop her into tiny pieces, keeping a lock of her hair as a trophy.

Blake sighs and banishes the thought from her head, mentally scolding herself for being stupid and working herself up. Shakily, she rubs her hands down the front of her shorts, trying to get rid of the sweat clinging to her palms. She swallows thickly and reclines against a tree, wondering when she had become so… _nervous._ She used to think she could take on the world and come out victorious no matter the odds. She used to be ridiculously confident and she had that confidence for a reason. She used to be a werewolf hunter, someone who saved other people and kept them safe. But what does she do now?

Nothing. There's nothing left to Blake but rescuing Wess. After she does that, she's dead.

Blake realizes now that she never had a shot at beating the world, the only reason she ever thought that she had a chance is naivety. The only difference is that now she knows that the game was rigged from the start. Frustrated, she rakes a hand through her hair in a feeble attempt at lowering her heart rate, crudely ripping out a couple hairs as she does.

The game might be rigged, but that doesn't mean she's going to roll over and give up. She's going to fight with every last breath she has. She has to.

"Let's go," Derek's clipped voice greets her.

Blake jumps, her head snapping up to catch sight of the handsome Derek Hale, who might take her out into the forest and murder her. Flattening her palm against her heart, she tries to calm herself down. Someone should really put a bell on that man, he moves way too quietly. She shoves herself off the tree she was resting against and kicks at the dead leaves angrily, resisting her urge to punch something. Why would he ever think it's okay to just show up and start ordering her around?!

Blake's nails bite into her palms, but they aren't the dull nails she's used to. They're talons that easily shred the meat of her palms. But she doesn't remove them, hot blood dribbling from between her fingers. She can smell it on the air, that sharp rust scent that sinks into her nose like it belongs there. Briefly, she thinks back on all of the werewolves she's killed and wonders what their blood smelled like. She has an idea, of course, even with human senses it's not hard to pick out the scent of blood. She feels a delayed bubble of guilt pop to the surface of her emotions, but she quickly and unrepentantly squashes it down.

They were killers, she only killed werewolves that killed humans. It's not like they were innocent.

"I get that you're having a mental breakdown," Derek's voice cracks through her ugly thoughts like a bullet, "but I really don't care."

Blake's head snaps up, pinning Derek a glare. Her vision is sharp at all times now and not only when her eyes change, but she could definitely tell that her eyes are a bright searing blue at this moment. "Fuck you," she snarls, that uncomfortable rage passing over her again. Yesterday he told her that it's because of the influence of the full moon. Yesterday she had apologized when she almost gutted him like a fish. Today she could care less.

Derek snorts, "Yeah, as soon as you stop telling people I'm your fiancé," he says, narrowing his light green eyes at her in an accusing manner.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Blake grumbles, feeling an uncomfortable tightness in her chest from the abundant amounts of anger she has. She really has no idea what he means, she hasn't told anyone about him. Mostly because there's no one to tell.

"Like you don't know," he scoffs, planting another seed of anger in Blake's garden of emotions. It doesn't really feel like a garden right now, maybe just one of those window sill planters because all she feels is anger, confusion, and another sprout of anger. "It's what you told the woman at the front desk of the motel," he explains at last.

"That's it?" Blake seethes, imaging multiple bloody ways to horrifically maim the man in front of her. If he doesn't turn out to be a murderer, he's going to make one of Blake before the night is over. At least she knows where Camellia got the idea her fiancé was released from the hospital earlier. Derek must have wandered in and Camellia assumed he was Blake's fiancé.

Derek gives her a dry glare, shifting his weight in a way that's supposed to be seen as threatening, but Blake's too lost in her anger to interpret the sign right. "I'd rather it be a mistake that's not made again," he growls.

"Yeah? Well, people have been giving me the number to the local battered women shelter all day. Sorry if I don't care that you got mistaken for my fiancé one time by one fucking person," Blake snarls, her fingers clenching in spasm causing talons slice into her palm once more. The blood trickling through her fingers seems to quench some of the unexplainable fury, her head clearing slightly. It's only enough for her to feel a pinch of guilt. Her shoulders slump and her hand instinctively comes up to massage her forehead, accidentally smearing blood across her face. That response was somewhat unwarranted and she knows it. She just… feels this incorrigible rage curling up in her insides. It's making her snappy and irritable.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that," Blake mutters, trying to soothe away a pain in her head that doesn't exist. She hasn't developed any headaches since she contracted lycanthropy, which would be one of the few positives she's encountered so far. "I don't know why she assumed you're my fiancé. I told her I got into a car wreck to explain the blood on my shirt and that my fiancé was in the hospital," she says, though it nearly causes her physical pain to apologize to him.

Derek gives a careless shrug, a hint of a malicious smirk working its way on his face, "I told her I was your fiancé to get your room number," he throws over his shoulder as he begins to walk deeper into the forest.

Blake's entire body trembles, shaking with the force of the animosity barreling through her. "_You_ _asshole!_" she screams, the now-familiar pain of shifting tearing through her already rattled brain even as she tries to hold it at bay. She fails and the sight of his back incites some kind of predatory instinct which causes her to lunge forward, claws extended to sink into his back and tear his flesh into ribbons from shoulder to hip. Unfortunately, before she can feel the satisfaction of his blood on her hands, he shoots ahead of her into a dead sprint. He knows exactly what he's doing calling upon her newly-acquired prey drive by starting a chase. All that remains of Blake is instinct. Her rational thoughts have all taken a break, sitting back to watch the chaos unfold.

Clumsily dashing through the trees, Blake does everything she can to catch him and tear him to shreds. But somehow he always slips through her claws. She'd make a lunge for him and he'd neatly jump out of the way, looking rather bored. When he did actually let her get close enough to strike him, he'd easily catch or block her swipes at him. Then he'd return with a blow of his own, his claws digging into her flesh every chance he got.

Honestly, Blake made a rather crummy werewolf. They must've played cat and mouse for hours, though it's never quite clear who's the cat or who's the mouse. Blake does the pursuing, but she's also the one who always ends up with new wounds from each encounter. The only thing she has going for her right now is her unfailing persistence.

Blake watches through a field of red as Derek grabs her backpack and unzips it. She snarls possessively, bolting forward to try and get him away from her belongings. Before she can, he pulls something out of her backpack and whips it at her, a hard piece of metal cracking across her face with ridiculous speed. She gives a startled yelp, pausing in confusion. She takes in a deep breath and Wess's scent floods through her, causing her to slowly ease of the frenzied state of mind, though the werewolf features remain.

Blake clicks her teeth together, licking her lips through her enlarged canines. She's not exactly sure what happened, or what's going on. She's in a completely different part of the forest, the only familiar things around are Derek and her backpack. Blood pulses and oozes from at least half a dozen wounds on her, all of them are in different stages of healing and in varying depths ranging from paper cut to surgical incision.

"I've already told you," Derek snaps, watching her closely. "You have to use an anchor to keep your mind from being taking over by pure instinct."

"Really?" Blake drawls, her fangs retreating as she regains full control. Blood overwhelms her nose and her skin feels sticky and tight. "Because all I remember is you barging into my room, being a cryptic asshole, and then threatening me." There's a tug, a pull that begs her to shift back. It's nearly impossible to ignore and it feels like trying to ignore the screech of nails on a chalkboard, but she finds the strength to shove the feeling to the back of her head.

Derek gives her the same look he gave her the second time they met, the one that's loathing and hateful. "I don't have to help you," he says, his teeth gritting together. "I don't like you and I could care less about what happens to you."

Blake shifts her weight uneasily, self-loathing rippling through her. She shrugs and shakes her head. "I didn't ask for this, you know?" she says quietly, Derek's remark resonating a little too sharply within her. Of course he didn't have to help her, she knows that and she wouldn't blame him for not helping her. The same goes for not liking her, because honestly, she used to hunt werewolves for a living. He'd be crazy to trust her and even crazier to like her.

"Are you talking about my help or the bite?" Derek spits, the same tone of animosity coloring his words. "No one asks for the bite. You aren't special."

Blake laughs and even in her own ears it sounds small and broken. "You're right," she says simply. "But I don't understand why you're helping me when clearly, you'd much rather see me dead," she snorts, trying to make it sound like she doesn't care. Normally she wouldn't, and she can't understand why she does care. Maybe it's just another thing to add to her growing heap of problems. If this keeps up, her hair's going to turn grey before she makes it to her next birthday… It's the end of July right now, she realizes abruptly. Her birthday's in February. She's not going to make it to her next birthday anyway. The thought sends a cold spear of ice through her chest. She shakes it off, clenching her eyes against the jarring realization. It doesn't matter, she sternly tells herself. It doesn't matter.

Derek shifts from one foot to the other, as he carefully considers her words. "Because I don't want to deal with the trouble you'd bring if you killed someone," he says at last.

"That's what you said last time," Blake points out, "but that's not the whole truth is it?" she pauses, sweeping her eyes nervously over her surroundings until she spots Wess's collar lying in the forest debris. That must've been what he threw at her. "How would the hunters ever know you were a werewolf unless you revealed yourself?" she asks carefully, her chest still tight with emotion. Though, she isn't quite sure what emotion it is. "Besides, most hunters don't kill for fun. If they had no proof of you killing anyone, they'd leave you alone."

Derek crosses the distance between them in a second. Blake's eyes widen, but she doesn't quite have time to react before his hand is around her throat and she's slammed into a tree. Her hands fly up to wrap around Derek's wrist, but her feet can still touch the ground and if she stays calm, she can still breathe. So she doesn't resist, staring defiantly into his hard green eyes while her hands rest almost gently on top of his wrist. He's going to come to the abrupt realization that it's difficult to intimidate her outside of closed spaces. Besides, she knows he isn't intending to kill her. If he wanted to kill her, he could easily hold her up a little higher so she couldn't put her feet on the ground or simply tighten his grip around her throat.

"If you think hunters care about whether or not a werewolf has killed," Derek starts, his expression reminds her of the eye of a hurricane, it's calm for now, but has the potential to switch in an instant, "then you're sadly mistaken."

"I did," Blake says evenly. The expression that shoots across his face is highly skeptical, eliciting a frown from the trapped woman. "I cared," she says, struggling to swallow with his palm pressed so firmly against her throat, "I cared enough to make sure. I never killed without proof." If he didn't have hearing sharp enough to detect her heartbeat, he could have told by her steady pulse fluttering against his palm.

"That doesn't change anything," Derek growls, his eyes narrowing at her.

Blake allows her eyes to slide closed, a sense of hopelessness falling over her. What was she thinking, trying to convince this man she isn't quite as bad as he seems to think? "No," she agrees, fighting to keep her voice steady, "maybe it doesn't change anything. I'm just one person who tried to protect others," she says, giving a short bitter laugh as she opens her eyes. "Do you see where that has gotten me?"

Derek's hand jerks away from Blake's throat and she sighs in relief, her fingers coming up to massage her neck carefully. "Shift," he commands, standing a much further distance away than before. "Keep yourself anchored this time," he says in scoldingly. She assumes he's referring to when she lost control and tried to kill him. Oops.

Blake rolls her shoulders, trying to figure out how to shift on command. She doesn't have to think long because it comes naturally as soon as she wills it to, the new animalistic side of her leaping to the front of her mind to bask in the glow of the full moon. Her rational thoughts stay rooted, allowing her to think clearly. But she can feel the werewolf in her is just biding its time, waiting for her concentration to slip up. She can hear as Derek shifts himself, his teeth sliding against each other to accommodate fangs and claws jutting from his nail beds, but the rest of his shift is silent.

There's a quick series of light footsteps as Derek approaches in a sprint, his eyes glowing a brilliant blue. Blake narrowly dodges out of the way of a swipe that would've torn her open hip to shoulder. Her control waivers as she rolls out of the way and shoves herself to her feet, but somehow manages to holdfast. She gets less than a second to recover before he's on her again, aiming a horizontal swipe at her stomach. She isn't sure why he's pushing her into a fight, but she still has an abundance of potentially dangerous energy that she needs to shed, so she isn't complaining.

The two sink a deadly dance, becoming a whirl of claws and fangs as they clash. Derek outstrips her by a mile and he doesn't show any mercy, but Blake was a hunter. She's used to being light on her feet and relying on her senses to help her. Only now, she's faster, stronger, and she has senses that become more acute the more she pays attention to them. She's at least good enough to stop herself from acquiring any more wounds, though the ones from earlier have already healed. It's not so much of a fight as a sparring match or training exercise. He passed up too many chances to fatally injure her for her to believe for a second he was being serious.

An hour later or so, a couple rays of sunshine break through the tree line, causing Blake to pause and inspect them. She pants heavily as she watches the light filter through the leaves, catching her breath. She only realizes her mistake as Derek's clawed hand rips into her shoulder blade, raking his talons down the back of her ribs.

Lines of liquid agony are drawn down her back as Blake drops to her knees, sinking her fangs into her palm to bottle the horrific cry that rises in her throat. She can feel her bra becoming looser and looser, what remains of the strap dragging across the ragged lacerations in her back. "You…" she groans in pain as her shoulder is agitated by her rapid shift back into a human, "You asshole, that was one of my last bras," she says, her teeth grit in pain.

"You picked the wrong time to stop and admire the sun rise," Derek's unrepentant voice comes from behind her. "It's your fault."

"Whatever," Blake mumbles, she's in too much pain to argue. "Come stand in front of me," she says, turning her head slightly to get a glimpse of Derek. He scowls at the command, crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. A low displeased rumble starts in her chest, "I'm taking my shirt off, just do it!" she snaps, tired of dealing with him all night.

Derek rolls his eyes, walking around to stand in front of her. "Better?" he asks sarcastically.

Blake scowls at him, "I meant with your back turned to me," she says, not amused by his choice to stand face to face with her. He scoffs, finally turning around so that his back is facing Blake. It's the first time he's turned his back to her since the beginning of the night, when she first shifted.

Satisfied he's not going to get an eyeful, Blake carefully begins to remove the tattered remains of her grey tank top, keeping her injured shoulder as still as possible. After the tank top comes off, she slides the straps of the ruined bra off of her shoulder and carelessly drops the ruined blue garment to the ground. There goes her favorite bra. Sighing in remorse, she turns to get a look at the wound. The edges are already starting to pull themselves closed, but that's not what worries her. What worries her is that there are bits of fabric and elastic from her bra sticking to the wound. She isn't sure if the wound will stop healing or heal around it, embedding the fabric into her skin.

Blake cautiously reaches behind her to try and pick the fabric out of the wound, ignoring the pain that comes with the movement. But she doesn't have enough control in the awkward position to pick the pieces out without causing more pain. She sighs in resignation, "Derek," she calls reluctantly, crossing her arm over her chest and using the remains of her tank top to preserve what's left of her modesty.

"What?" he grumbles.

Blake scowls at his tone, nearly changing her mind about asking him for help. But if she doesn't ask him she'll have to do it herself or wait and see what happens if it heals on its own. "I need help," she finally admits. "There are pieces of cloth stuck in it and I can't reach them."

"Does that mean I can turn around now?" Derek asks sarcastically. It seems like he's aiming to make everything as difficult as possible for Blake.

"Yes," Blake says through gritted teeth. "You can turn around now."

When Derek finally turns to face her again, he takes his sweet time walking around to her back. She feels uncomfortably exposed, she hates being this unguarded. Unable to stand him being out of her sight, she cranes her neck, watching as he kneels on one knee so that they're at roughly the same level.

Blake flinches at the sound of his claws extending from his fingertips, associating the sound with an imminent attack. Derek arches an eyebrow at her reaction before plucking a scrap of fabric out of her wound. She bites her lip at the harsh tug the action gives, the congealing blood gluing the piece of cloth in place and causing it to stick. It feels just like pulling a bandage off of a recent injury.

Derek picks another scrap of cloth out with his claws, the very same claws that caused the wound. Tossing it indiscriminately to the ground, he ignores the shrewd way Blake's eyes follow his fingers closely. She doesn't trust him, but it doesn't really make a difference because he doesn't trust her either. The entire time he works is spent in tense silence, occasionally broken by a grimace from Blake as she anticipates another piece being extracted.

Derek's eyes flick up to her face for the first time, "This is going to hurt," he warns dully. Blake frowns, trying to figure out what he means. It already hurts, isn't that warning a little too—she grunts in pain as his clawed fingers dig into one of the lacerations, pulling a deeply embedded piece of elastic from the band of her bra out. The wound throbs, a fresh wave of blood dribbling down her back as his fingers agitate the clotted blood, disturbing the fragile barrier that kept her blood from flowing.

"There," he says tonelessly, flicking the bloody piece of elastic off his fingers. "I got them all out."

Blake sucks in a deep breath, relieved that the wound's going to heal normally from here on. Gingerly pushing herself to her feet, she keeps her arm carefully tucked across her chest as she makes her way to her backpack. The tug in her mind that begged her to shift is gone, replaced with a quiet peace that she hasn't experienced since right before receiving the bite. Unzipping her backpack with one hand, she grabs her reusable water bottle and struggles to open it without removing her arm from across her breasts. Finally, frustrated with being unable to open it one-handed, she shoves the bottle between her knees to hold it still as she twists the cap off.

Blake leans over so that the water won't immediately run down her back and soak her shorts, before bracing herself and pouring the slightly cool water over the jagged slashes carved into her shoulder. She hopes the liquid will help flush out anymore stray threads or other contagions, reducing the chance of infection. Though, she's not quite sure if werewolf wounds can get infected in the first place. The water seeps into her wounds, causing her to release a shallow hiss. But at the same time, the contrast of the cool water over her heated skin makes it feel a little better. She straightens after most of the water has slid off of her back, wincing as the wounds give a sharp twang.

Keeping her arm in place for the sake of modesty, Blake carefully pulls the tank top away from her chest and shakes it out. It has gaping holes from everywhere Derek's claws touched and without a bra to wear under it, it's completely indecent. But she didn't want to get another one of her bras or shirts dirty. Blood stains are a ginormous pain to get out.

"Here," Derek grunts. Blake turns to face him just in time to watch him grab the hem of his short sleeved black shirt and pull it over his head, ruffling his short dark hair as he does. "You ruined it anyway," he says as he tosses the shirt at her. She snags the shirt out of the air, the soft cotton feeling slightly strange in her calloused fingers. She isn't sure what he meant when he said she ruined it, but it doesn't matter. It's a shirt, it's clean enough considering the fact that they've been in the forest for at least nine hours, and it's going to prevent her from accidentally flashing people on the street. There doesn't seem to be a downside to it. Except that now Derek's shirtless, but who's she kidding? That's not a downside for her either.

"Thanks," she says, turning her back on him so she can pull the shirt on. It's difficult to get it on without bothering the injury on her shoulder, but she manages. The shirt that had fit Derek well, not too loose nor too tight, completely swamps Blake's considerably smaller frame. There's an abundance of loose material just hanging out around her middle, the hem passes her hips by a good few inches and the sleeves almost go to her elbows, though one sleeve has several rips gouged into it. That's what he must've meant by her ruining his shirt. She had done that when he grabbed her and went to throw her into a tree, but instead she latched onto his bicep and cut through the skin and muscle with her claws using the momentum he gave to her. The force had sent both of them tumbling to the ground, for once Blake being the least injured party from one of their scuffles.

Derek's eyes sweep over Blake's lithely muscled form, he could smell himself on her before she put his shirt on, a consequence of spending so long in the same vicinity. But now it's stronger, intermingling with her own scent and it makes him nearly uncomfortable enough to regret giving the shirt to her in the first place. It smells _wrong._ He doubts severely that she can smell it because she's basically an infant werewolf, but there's something about the mix of scents that sets his teeth on edge. She didn't smell particularly interesting, he could still smell coffee and breakfast food on her as well as the shampoo and body wash she uses, but under that was her natural scent. And her natural scent made him scowl.

Eyes cutting over to her backpack, Derek abruptly realizes why she smells so wrong. It's because of the wolfsbane bullets. Gritting his teeth, he narrows his eyes at her unaware back. She's a hunter, of course she smells like wolfsbane. On account of the bullets being in her backpack for so long and wolfsbane being such an important tool to a hunter, the scent is pressed into her skin with semi-permanence. That backpack seemed to be holding the only belongings she has. Even with enhanced senses, she probably doesn't realize she smells like wolfsbane because it's always on her. Smokers don't realize they smell so strongly of smoke until they stop smoking and get away from the constant scent, apparently she's not going to realize she smells like wolfsbane until she gets away from it.

"You should get rid of those wolfsbane bullets in your bag," Derek speaks up, disrupting the silence. Blake glances back at him, surprised to hear his voice. "You'll end up poisoning yourself," he says blankly.

Blake's eyes slide over to her backpack almost guiltily, catching a glimpse of the plastic ammunition case from the open zipper. "You're right," she says simply. Her heart clenches at the prospect. She doesn't think she can ever shoot another wolfsbane bullet as long as she lives, but… they reminded her of the endless days she spent on the road with Wess. They reminded her of the nights she spent meticulously pulling her gun apart and cleaning it, Wess's head sitting in her lap. When they rattled occasionally in her backpack, it made her smile.

They're familiar, they're comforting. They make her feel safe.

But she's not safe anymore, and maybe she never was.

Blake grabs the box of ammunition and gives it a small shake, hearing the familiar clatter of the bullets clinking around in their plastic chambers. This time she frowns at the sound, whiffs of gunpowder, metal, and wolfsbane embedding into her nose. Instead of being comforting, it makes her cringe. The concentrated scent of wolfsbane sends a sharp bolt of pain through her nasal cavity, making her throat feel itchy. "You're right," she repeats once again, swallowing thickly. Feeling impulsive, she whirls around and hurls the small case of bullets deep into the forest. The box sails through the air, propelled by her newfound strength. It eventually hits the ground and shatters, bullets nosily rolling and clinking together as they hit the forest floor.

Blake sighs and puts a hand on her shoulder, cursing herself for managing to tear the wounds open again. Hauling her backpack onto her good shoulder, she turns away from the direction of the bullets and starts the trek back to civilization. She can still feel the scratchy feeling in her throat, the bullets being yet another of the relics from her hunting days to betray her.

If Derek has anything to say about Blake leaving, he keeps it to himself.

* * *

A/N: So that was the chapter, I hope you liked it! If you have any thoughts, questions, or predictions, I'd really love to hear them. Hope I did Derek's character justice! See ya next Tuesdaaay. :)


	7. The Road

A/N: Hey guys! Looks like it's Tuesday again, so here's the next chapter! Thanks SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed, favorited, or followed last chapter. You guys are so amazing and it just makes me so happy. I love hearing what you have to say, so don't stop! :)

Guest: Aw, thank you so much! I love that you love it! :)

* * *

Blake falls into a relentless routine, one that leaves little to no room for her to stop and think. She likes not having to think about anything. She likes coming back to her motel room so tired all she can do is shower off and climb into bed. Her routine starts at 11 AM, when she wakes up. After waking up she gets dressed and has breakfast, usually something simple like a Pop-tart, granola bar or some instant oatmeal made using the microwave in her room. Then she meets up with Holly and gets to work cleaning the rooms. They work from 11:30 AM, checkout time, until they finish cleaning all forty rooms, which is usually around 6 or 7 PM. It varies depending on how wrecked the rooms are after the occupants leave. After finishing that, she goes back to her room to change and then heads up to the diner to eat. When she finishes eating, she starts her shift and works from 9 PM to 6 AM. She gets back to her room, showers, and crawls into bed. The next day she gets up and does it all over again. She dreads the days she has off from the diner, when she has nothing to do but lay in bed and stare at the ceiling.

Kind of like she's doing now.

Blake's narrow blue eyes remain attached to the ceiling, her mind in a completely different place. She hasn't gotten so much as a _whiff _of Derek in the last two weeks. She had managed to see him three times within two days, and one of those times lasted for a whopping nine hours, but not a trace of him after that. She still has his shirt, though by now it's more _hers _than his, especially when you take into account that she's washed and worn it so many times that not even a bloodhound could detect Derek on it any more. Besides, he's the one who willingly gave it up. She just as willingly took it in as a replacement for the grey tank top he ruined. She's just glad that her black basketball shorts somehow made it through the scuffle without any grievous injuries.

Starla hasn't contacted her either. Blake frowns at the realization. Maybe Starla changed her mind; maybe she _didn't_ want Wess anymore. Hah, fat chance of that happening. Starla had always gushed over everything about Wess. She could prattle on forever about how beautiful his coat is, how unique his markings are, how mellow and affectionate he is, and well-behaved and trained he is. Starla wanted a dog, badly. She also wanted every werewolf on the face of the earth to drop dead. It only makes sense that Starla would kill for a dog trained to detect werewolves.

Oh, right. She's going to kill Blake. So maybe she is killing for Wess.

Blake nearly jumps out of her skin as her phone begins to ring loudly. She groans in complaint, rolling off of her bed to sluggishly cross the room and snatch her phone off the table to read the caller ID. "Starla," she breathes, a thrill of terror racing down her spine. Her breath comes in short bursts, her chest tightening in fear. The term 'speak of the devil,' seems to fit here pretty well.

Blake gulps and wipes her sweaty palms on her shorts, answering the call and bringing it up to her ear. "Hello?" she says, hoping Starla didn't hear the quiver in her voice.

"How do I know you're going to go through with what you promised me?" Starla's voice breaks through the speaker, not bothering with small talk or even a simple greeting. It suits Blake perfectly.

"I don't know, Starla. There's nothing left that I can give you," Blake says tiredly, rubbing her eyes. "I already promised you my life and my dog. That's all I have."

"Don't be so dramatic, Blake," Starla scolds, causing Blake to scowl. "You know that I could have every hunter within a hundred miles of New York on your tail with a simple phone call, don't you? The only reason you're still alive is because I want something from you," Starla says, her shrill voice piercing through Blake's brain like a cleaver.

"Yes," Blake says quietly, "I know… I won't back out. I'm a woman of my word."

"Good," Starla say succinctly. "I would really regret missing what may be my last chance to kill a werewolf."

Blake withholds a growl and digs her blunt fingernails into her palms, "You don't have to worry about that," she says, struggling to keep a civil tone. "Do you have any news for me?"

"Yes, but I really wonder whether or not you deserve it after using that sort of tone with me," Starla clucks, her voice holding a taunting note.

"I'm sorry," Blake says slowly, making sure to carefully the control the tone and inflection of her words. "I shouldn't have spoken to you that way," she says, taking a deep stabilizing breath. Wess, it's all for Wess.

"That's much better, dear," Starla praises mockingly. "We'll have you properly trained like a good little doggy in no time." Blake's jaw tightens dangerously at Starla's words, her teeth grinding against each other with so much force she's surprised they don't explode into tiny fragments. Starla continues, "But you'll be happy to know that Katie has killed the alpha that bit you."

"What?" Blake asks dumbly, her mouth gaping open. She had once heard that if a person who was bitten killed the werewolf that bit them, they'd be cured of their lycanthropy. She's never heard of it _working, _but it was still a thought in the back of her mind, a tempting '_what if,_' that gave her hope. If the alpha's dead, so is Blake's chance at ever being human again. Her legs suddenly threaten to stop supporting her, causing her to stumble back until she falls onto the bed. Her last hope just exploded in her face.

"I _know _you heard me," Starla snaps shrilly, "don't play stupid with me!" When Blake doesn't say anything, Starla huffs and continues talking. "Chris Argent and his family just moved to Beacon Hills, Kate always shows up wherever Chris goes."

"Okay," Blake whispers, her mind still sorting through Starla's words. Chris Argent, she had worked with him before. She remembers his stern blue eyes and no nonsense attitude. He was a good leader and he got things done. She respected him, but if he's in Beacon Hills, she definitely doesn't want to be there. There's no way Kate hasn't passed along the story of Blake's turning to him. If Chris catches sight of Blake, he'll be after her. Not to mention his wife, that woman had the iciest blue eyes Blake's ever seen and a determination of steel. As a team, the two of them are fearsome. If they're in Beacon Hills, then walking into that place is signing her death warrant.

But Kate would show up there eventually. She always pops up wherever Chris Argent does.

Blake swallows her fear and reaches up to massage her temples with her cold fingers. "Okay," she repeats, "I'll be headed to Beacon Hills within the next few days. Is there anything else?"

"No," Starla answers. "But you're in luck, Beacon Hills is only a four hour drive away from Oregon."

Blake's stomach tightens in fear; of course Beacon Hills is ridiculously close to Oregon. So not only is she going to be sleeping in the same town as Chris Argent and his lot, but she's going to be just a stone's throw away from Starla. "That's great," she says quietly.

"I'll be seeing you soon, dear," Starla says, though her voice is completely void of the affection that would usually accompany the term, 'dear.'

"Yeah," Blake agrees, licking her dry lips. "I guess so."

Starla hangs up.

Blake groans and tosses her phone back on the table, burrowing into the purple zebra print covers. Her fingers come up to massage her temples in soothing circles, her eyes sliding shut. "I really need a drink," she mutters to herself, seriously considering a trip down to the local liquor store. How's she supposed to turn around and tell Jacqueline and Harvey that she's quitting? They've been so nice to her, it feels like she's betraying them.

But does she really have a choice?

Blake knows the answer to that question is a big fat 'no.' If she wants to get Wess back, she has to go to Beacon Hills, she has to live in the same vicinity as the Argents— the type of hunting family that has legends written about them—and she has to wait. If there's anywhere Kate MIGHT show up, it's back with her brother. Beacon Hills is the best shot she has until she gets some solid information.

* * *

It was hard saying goodbye to the people who had treated Blake so kindly. Camellia and Holly thought she was leaving with her fiancé now that their car was fixed, while Jacqueline and Harvey thought that she had a family emergency that required her to move immediately. It was also hard to lie to the people who had done so much for her, but it was better than them knowing the truth.

Blake has been on the road for two days so far, trying to make it to Missouri. Right now she's somewhere in Indiana walking along the interstate hoping that some kind soul will pull over and offer her a ride. Men are usually the ones to stop and offer, but there was a surprising amount of women stopping too. It seems like they all just assume since Blake's a woman, she's safe to pick up. Which, she's not complaining at all, but she has the feeling that if they knew she wasn't quite human, they'd think twice about offering her a ride. Not that she'd ever hurt anyone, it's just… being a werewolf makes her feel like a liar. She has no idea whether she'll lose control and put that person in danger. She's deceiving them, when they pick her up they assume she's harmless. But really, she's more dangerous than they can comprehend. It pains her to use such a worn out phrase, especially since she is actually a wolf of some sort, but she's a wolf in sheep's clothing. She hasn't shifted since that night with Derek, almost three weeks ago now. It's a week away from the full moon right now, and she can already feel the stirrings, the restlessness, the tug.

Blake's ear twitches at the sound of brakes being applied and she turns around to see a semi-truck pulling over into the shoulder next to her. The huge vehicle overshoots her by a good fifty yards, causing her to wonder whether or not they were actually stopping for her. It doesn't hurt to ask. She jogs up to the behemoth of a truck, her backpack bouncing as she does.

Just as Blake approaches the cab, the driver leans over and pops the passenger door open. "Need a ride?" a female voice greets her.

Blake blinks in surprise, she hasn't seen a female truck driver in her travels until now. "Uh, yes, please," she says, shrugging her backpack off and heaving it onto the floor board of the semi-truck, which is about chest-level with her. After that she steps onto the stair and uses the railing to haul herself into the cab. The woman driving is younger than Blake expected, seeming to be in her early twenties, just like Blake. She has curly brown hair that has managed to escape the pony tail it was pulled into and a good smattering of freckles across her cheeks.

"Thank you so much for stopping," Blake says, reaching out to shake the woman's hand. "My name's Blake Matthews."

The woman grins widely, revealing that she has a missing canine tooth. Somehow it just adds to her personality and quirk. "It's no trouble," she says, taking Blake's hand and shaking it firmly. "My name's Faith, and it's nice to have some company." Faith checks her side view mirror before pulling back onto the road and accelerating. "So Blake," she says conversationally, "where ya headed?"

"Missouri," Blake says simply, before taking a glance at Faith. Seeing as the woman is still staring at her, she decides to elaborate, "I left my car with a couple of friends there," she says, rubbing her palms on her jeans. "I, uh, need to go pick it up."

Faith nods, humming thoughtfully. "Where in Missouri?"

"Rolla," Blake answers, reaching behind her to click her seatbelt on. She wonders briefly if her new found resilience would be enough to save her in the event of a crash. Then again, all of the other cars are much smaller than the semi she's riding in, her chances of survival are already better than most just because of that.

Faith gives a warm gap-toothed smile, "You're in luck, my friend," she laughs, "I'm headed to Jefferson, Rolla's only about an hour away."

"That's great," Blake smiles and turns her attention to the passing scenery. It's mostly farmland and old houses with lush grass and flat land. It's definitely not a bad view, though it doesn't quite take her mind off of worrying about what she's going to do when she finds Kate. It was easy enough to ignore the thought when she was in New York, between working at the diner and working for her room, she didn't have very much free time. But now that all she's been doing is walking and riding in the cars of strangers, well, she has more down time than she knows what to do with.

Blake blinks hard at the sound of Faith's voice, jerking out of her thoughts, "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" she asks, looking at Faith apologetically.

"Oh, I just asked where your hometown was," Faith repeats, looking at Blake curiously.

"Well," Blake says, licking her lips. "I was born in Phoenix, but we moved a couple months after I was born."

Faith nods understandingly, "Where'd ya move to? What town do you call home?"

Blake purses her lips, trying to remember if her parents ever told her where they went after Phoenix. "I don't remember, we moved a lot. My parents never really stayed in one place for too long," she finally admits. Glancing nervously out the window, she thinks about the second question. Is there a town she'd call her home? "Um, I guess Lamesa would be my hometown," she says finally. When she catches the curious look Faith gives her, she realizes that Faith probably hasn't heard of it. "It's a small place in Texas," she clarifies.

Faith makes a noise of acknowledgement in the back of her throat, "I see," she says. "Why'd you and your parents move around so much?"

Blake cringes, she had hoped she wouldn't have to say anything about that. "They were professional hunters," she says at last, managing to crack a small smile at how close to the truth that is. "We moved to wherever they thought the best hunts would be." That's actually the whole truth, but Faith wouldn't see it for what it actually is.

Faith bobs her head, "That's cool," she comments. "What'd they hunt? What made them want to go to Lamesa?"

Both questions nearly cause Blake to grimace, she doesn't want to lie to Faith, but the truth isn't something that should be freely waved about. "They hunted everything, really," she says lightly, not wanting to elaborate. "And, um, they didn't go to Lamesa. They sent me to live with my aunt for a while."

"Oh," Faith says, turning her large brown eyes on Blake. She's quiet for a while and Blake thinks that the questions are over, when Faith speaks up again. "Your aunt… what's she like?"

Blake swallows thickly and licks her lips, trying to ignore the way her chest tightens at the thought of her aunt. "Um, her name was Amber. She was… amazing. She took me in without a second thought, even though she and her husband were struggling," Blake says, biting her lip. "She believed if you wanted anything, you had to work for it. She also," she pauses, blinking away the gathering moisture in her eyes, "she also loved strawberry ice cream."

"Where is she now?" Faith asks, keeping her eyes strictly on the road.

"She died when I was ten," Blake says, struggling to keep her voice even. It's been such a long time since anyone has asked about Amber, the subject is still sore. She can still remember waking up to the smell of pancakes and Amber's excited face leaning over Blake. Amber always ate her pancakes with a dollop of strawberry ice cream on top. After they finished breakfast, Blake would help Amber and her husband feed the horses before Blake headed off to school.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Faith gasps immediately. Blake smiles weakly at her, it feels good to have someone who cares enough to ask, but sorting through the old memories is hard and painful, especially when they've been locked away for so long. "What about your parents..?" Faith asks softly, staring at Blake with her eyes full of pity and… longing?

Blake shrugs, "I don't have much to say about them," she says bluntly. Everything there is to say about them is related to hunting. It's almost impossible to separate the idea from them. "They were obsessed with hunting, they didn't really pay much attention to me," she says, a cold indifference creeping into her voice without her noticing. If they were here, they'd scold her relentlessly. She'd get an earful about being careless, for getting bitten, and… they'd scold her for still being alive.

"_If you get bitten, you're dead. No exceptions._" Her mother had told Blake that once. They were at the scene of another hunt. One of the hunters had gotten bitten. He committed suicide on the spot after briefly telling another hunter to apologize to his wife. Blake's mother made her watch, her sharply filed fingernails digging into Blake's chin as she tried to wrench away. Blake was only eleven years old. Her parents had decided it would be okay to have her wait in the car to get for a feel of how hunts went. Blake later understood it wasn't to be cruel, it was just to show Blake the severity of the situation. To make her understand that there were no exceptions. Nobody got a free pass.

But she's making an exception for herself right now, even though she knows better. Her parents would be mortified if they were alive.

"Oh," Faith says quietly as her shoulders slump, but Blake knows better than to assume that's the last of the questions this time. "What happened to them?"

"They died in a hunting accident six years ago," Blake says curtly. It's also the truth. They got lured into a trap set by a furious alpha, whose entire pack her parents had hunted down and killed. He bit both of them and kept them hostage, forcing them to stay alive by pouring water down their throats and chaining them up so tightly they couldn't move. When the full moon came, he unchained them and watched as they tore each other to pieces. He had regaled the story in great detail to Blake as she came to finish what her parents started. He grinned at her as she put a wolfsbane bullet in his head.

Faith's shoulders drop as she stares guiltily at Blake, "I'm sorry," she whispers.

Before Faith has the chance to come up with another question, Blake asks one of her own. "What about your family?"

Faith gives a quiet laugh, shrugging her shoulders. "I…" she pauses and Blake hears as her swallow, "I never had any," she says. "I was raised by foster families… I never stayed in one place for long either."

Blake winces, feeling guilty for asking. But at least she understands now, Faith was asking all of those questions because she wanted to know what it was like to have a family. Unfortunately, Blake isn't the best person to ask for feel good stories about parents who coddled their children or about cousins who were as close as siblings or about grandparents who were always there. She didn't have any of those. Aunt Amber was the closest thing she had to a normal family member since her parents weren't exactly the epitome of normal, but Aunt Amber has been dead for a long time.

"I'm sorry," Blake says sincerely, glancing over at Faith, whose eyes have glossed over with unshed tears.

The cab of the truck is silent save for the hum of the engine and the wind whipping past the windows.

* * *

A/N: Okay, so no Derek in this chapter, but there was a lot of important characterization and little details about Blake. There's not any Derek in the next chapter either, but it's a rather exciting one! He's in the chapter after that though, so no worries. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! Feed me and my muse, leave a review. It's like giving a dog some food, I'll be your friend for life if you review. ;)


	8. The Confrontations

A/N: Hey guys, that summer finale was a doozy, huh? I can't believe so much stuff happened! If you've seen it, you'll understand why I'm a little upset with the ending... I'm sure it's not going to be permanent though, he'll be back. But still! Sigh... anyway, no Derek in this chapter either, but that doesn't mean anything. This chapter is plenty exciting, even with its lack of Derek. Read on to find out! As always, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"There's fine," Blake says, pointing to an oncoming stop sign. Faith had decided to drive Blake down to Rolla since it's only an hour away from Jefferson City, where her shipment is due. Blake tried to talk her out of it, but Faith waved her off with an excuse about her shipment not being due until the next day.

"Are you sure?" Faith asks, casting a concerned glance at Blake. "It's nearly midnight, Blake, and this isn't the best neighborhood."

"I'm sure," Blake says, trying to reassure Faith that it would be okay. It's nice to have someone worrying over her though. "I've been through this neighborhood at night a hundred times. Besides, I don't think the truck can maneuver through the residential area."

"You're right about the truck," Faith says, sighing. "But I still don't like it. How about I park the truck somewhere and we both walk to go pick up your car?" she suggests, staring at Blake with her huge brown eyes. "You know," she says quietly, "safety in numbers and junk."

Blake glances around uneasily, uncomfortable with the idea of Faith following her to her, well, EX-informant's house. Her ex-informant's a guy by the name of Roger, a grizzled middle-aged man that lost a leg during a hunt. He could be quite volatile and rather expressive in his hatred of werewolves. There's a possibility he knows about Blake, and if he catches her taking her car back, he'll leap at the chance to put a bullet in her. If Faith's with her, that puts Faith in danger too.

That's why Blake's already pulling the door open before the truck comes to a complete halt at the stop sign. "Thank you so much, Faith, really. But I'll be okay," she says, trying not to look at Faith, "I promise."

"Blake, please," Faith says, but Blake's still not looking at her.

"Here," Blake says, rummaging through her backpack for a pen and paper. Quickly she scribbles her cell phone number on the notepad before ripping the paper out of the binding and handing it to Faith. "You can call me to make sure I'm okay."

"Or I can go with you," Faith insists stubbornly.

Blake sighs and shakes her head, "No, Faith. You can't come with me. It's too dangerous."

"I know!" Faith exclaims, throwing the truck into park. "That's the exact reason I'm going with you."

"No," Blake says firmly. "You aren't going with me."

"Watch me," Faith says, looking right into Blake's eyes as she reaches to unbuckle her seatbelt.

"Don't be unreasonable, Faith," Blake says, trying to keep from snapping. "If you go with me and leave your truck here, it'll get moved, you'll lose your shipment, and maybe your job. I'm not worth it, just forget about me," Blake commands, sliding out of the truck and shutting the door. She hears an exasperated yell and then the slamming of the truck door. She smiles victoriously to herself and hikes her backpack onto her shoulder as she steps up onto the sidewalk running alongside the road.

Blake freezes when she hears footsteps coming her way. She whirls around to see Faith coming around the front of the semi-truck, her jaw set in determination. "I'm coming with you," Faith says bluntly, her tone leaving no room for arguments. Faith's a little more petite than Blake had envisioned, the other's woman's head coming just up to Blake's nose, even though Blake's just a little taller than average.

"What about your job?" Blake asks, giving Faith a meaningful look. "Are you seriously going to lose your job over me, some bum you picked up off the side of the road?"

"You have some serious self-esteem issues, ya know that?" Faith asks, stopping Blake's next argument in its tracks.

"U-Um," Blake stutters, not really sure of what to say next. She eventually stops trying to form a sentence and contents herself with staring at Faith in a flabbergasted silence.

"You should really hear yourself," Faith says, shrugging. "'I'm not worth it, forget about me,'" she says, repeating the words Blake had said moments ago. She shakes her head, looking to be at a loss for what to say next. But she opens her mouth again, more words spilling out. "Then you asked if I was really going to lose my job because I decided to help you, like… like your life wasn't worth as much as this shitty job," Faith says, scoffing as she kicks at a stray patch of grass sprouting through the cracks in the sidewalk.

"I'm just trying to keep you safe, Faith," Blake says softly. "If you follow me, there's a huge chance you'll regret it."

Faith meets Blake's eyes, her eyes hard with determination. "And if I don't follow you and you get hurt, I'll regret it even more," she says firmly, and Blake knows at once that this is an uphill battle that's she's losing. Faith gives a soft laugh, "Besides," she says lightly, "someone needs to be around to kick ass while you call the cops."

Blake laughs, shaking her head at the sheer stubborn, pigheaded will of the woman in front of her. "Okay," she says, putting her hands up in surrender. "Get back in the truck so we can park it somewhere."

If Blake's lucky, Roger will have already passed out in an alcohol-induced slumber. But when is she ever lucky?

* * *

After parking Faith's truck, the two women set off for Roger's house, Blake leading the way. She worries about Faith the entire time. If Roger sees Faith, there's a chance that he'll assume that she's a werewolf because she's with Blake. Blake is damning her by association. Roger isn't quite… the most rational person when it comes to his loathing of werewolves. He's had a lot of time to sit and to stew over the loss of his leg, twisting his mind into a gnarled old tree that only bears hatred.

Roger's small one story house comes into view and Blake's body goes cold with dread. Sitting in front of the seemingly innocent red brick house is her car, tires slashed into ribbons and windows shattered into dust. Whirling around to face Faith, Blake tries to keep the fear out of her face. "Faith," she says urgently, grasping the other woman by the shoulders. "I need you to wait here."

"What?" Faith blinks, moving to peer past Blake. "Is… Is that your car?" she asks hesitantly.

"Yes," Blake says, worrying her lip between her teeth. "Someone wants me dead," she says bluntly, trying to frighten Faith into listening. "If you're seen with me, they might hurt you. I need you to go back to your truck and pretend you never met me."

"What?" Faith asks again, her eyebrows deeply furrowed. "Why would anyone want you dead?"

"Faith!" Blake barks, "I need you to listen to me. Go back to the truck now!"

"O-Okay," Faith stutters as she stares at Blake in shock. One of her dark ringlets springs free of her ponytail and falls in her face, her wide concerned eyes narrowed on Blake.

"Good," Blake says, feeling a weight lift off of her shoulders. "Thank you so much for everything. I wish I could properly thank you, but right now I need you to get out of here."

"You're coming back," Faith states firmly, leaving absolutely no room for Blake to say otherwise. "After this you're coming back to the truck, and if you don't, I'm going to call you first and then I'm going to call the cops."

"Okay," Blake agrees hastily, "now go!" Faith turns and hesitantly begins to walk into the other direction, craning her neck to get a look at Blake every once and a while to make sure she hasn't changed her mind.

Once Faith is a sufficient distance away, Blake slowly and cautiously approaches her vandalized car, pulling her keys out of a pocket on her backpack. Roger must've wanted to make sure she didn't take off with the car, so he made sure it was immobile. How considerate of him. But there are still things she needs in the car, important papers and files in the glove-box and clothes and weapons in the trunk. She had her entire life stored in this car, but now all she can do is collect the pieces that are salvageable and cut her losses.

Blake leans in through the broken passenger window, not bothering to open the door and cause more of a ruckus. Being careful of the broken glass, she slides the car key into the slot next to the handle of the glove-box and turns it, unlocking it. Pulling it open, she quickly grabs the zippered binder filled with papers and shoves it in her backpack. It's a good thing Roger was only interested in causing damage instead of looting, it looks like he didn't even give the glove-box a second thought. Pulling herself out of the window, she dusts herself off and walks around to the back of the car, her keys still grasped tightly in her shaking fingers.

Blake unlocks the trunk, slowly opening it to reveal a duffel bag that's filled with clothes and other necessities. She hauls it out of the trunk and sets it on the ground, pulling up the covering to the spare tire. In the space where a spare tire would usually go, there's a large black case. Blake braces for the struggle of pulling it out of the trunk, but surprises herself with her strength and overzealously yanks it out, causing her to stumble backwards. Oh yeah. She has werewolf strength. She feels a little silly for forgetting as she quietly pushes the lid to the trunk closed, clutching the black case in her fingers.

Just as Blake moves to set the huge black case of the ground, the screen door to the little red brick house flies open, hitting the wall and giving a pained rattle. Roger stands in the doorway with his ever faithful crutches by his sides, bright light spilling out from behind him and shadowing his features. Blake jumps in surprise, dropping the black case so that it smacks against the asphalt with a hefty clatter.

"I thought you'd know better than to come back here," Roger's shockingly calm and controlled voice greets her, causing thrill of fear to shoot down her spine. She knows how to deal with him when he's yelling and swearing, throwing furniture in a blind rage. But she doesn't know what to do with calm and collected. This is a completely unexplored facet of Roger's personality. And it terrifies her.

Swallowing her terror, Blake speaks just as calmly as Roger, seeing no reason to get excited and make things worse for herself. "Roger, I know that you've heard about my… condition. But all I want is to pass my hunting equipment on to someone else, after that I've got someone who's going to help me out. I'm just trying to make sure everything's in order before-"

"SHUT UP!" Roger barks, causing Blake to flinch away at the sound of his voice. But, calm as can be, he switches back to the cold and precise tone. "I can help you, Blake. I'll take care of your equipment and I'll make sure to take care of your things," he pauses, crutching his way across the lawn and closer to Blake. There's a sharp flash of light next to his crutch, drawing Blake's attention immediately. Slowly, she puts both of her hands into the air, making sure not to move too fast.

Clutched in Roger's thick, hairy fingers is a gun. It seems that everyone's idea of helping her is to kill her.

"I'm not going to do anything, Roger," Blake promises, slowly turning to face him fully. "We don't need a gun to talk, why don't you set it down and we can negotiate?"

Roger glances down at the gun and grins, "Oh, this?" he asks sarcastically, raising the gun to aim at Blake. "This isn't anything you should worry about. After all, you do have that advanced healing that comes in handy at times like this, don'cha?"

Blake breathes slowly, struggling to stay calm. She doesn't know what type of bullets is in the magazine. If he shoots her with a wolfsbane bullet, she won't know how to fix it and even the most non-fatal shot could kill her. "Roger," she says, refusing to allow fear into her voice. "Don't do this… please. We can still talk this out."

"I really don't think we can," Roger disagrees, his finger clenching around the trigger.

The resounding gunshot echoes viciously in Blake's ears as her hands numbly reach up to cradle the wound burrowed into her stomach. Pain spirals outwards from it, lighting her organs on fire. Her legs give out just as blood begins to fall from the wound, sending her crashing to the ground. She still can't tell whether or not it's a wolfsbane bullet and the thought sends bolts of anxiety tearing through her body.

Roger carefully begins to pick his way over, his crutches making ominous metallic clicks as he does. When he reaches Blake, his lips curl into a grin that makes her skin crawl in the worst way. She feels like a shaking rabbit in the jaws of a wolf. "Do you remember what I told you the day you left your car here?" he asks airily, nonchalantly waving the gun about.

Blake grits her teeth, using her legs to subtly scoot herself closer to the black case. Swallowing, she answers him, "You told me to be careful," she says.

"That's not all I said, now is it, Blake?" Roger asks. Now that he's closer, Blake can smell him and there's not a hint of alcohol to be found. What scares her more than anything is the fact that he could do this stone cold sober.

"No, that's not all," she says, struggling for breath. "You jokingly told me… that if I got bitten you'd have to kill me yourself."

"It's not a joke anymore," he grins wickedly, leveling the muzzle of the gun on Blake's forehead. Wolfsbane or not, a bullet to the brain will kill her. Her fingers tighten around the handle of the black case, ready to fling it at Roger in a last ditch attempt to save herself.

"Leave her alone!" Faith screams just as a rock the size of a baseball smashes into Roger's temple, sending him sprawling to the ground, his crutches cluttering uselessly next to him. As Roger's recovering from the blow to his face, Blake painstakingly crawls over to the gun he dropped and brings it to her nose, inhaling deeply. Breathing a shuddering sigh of relief, she allows her shoulders to relax. It's not wolfsbane.

"Oh my God, Blake, you're bleeding," Faith cries, her eyes filling with tears as she drops to her knees next to Blake.

"I'm okay," Blake says quickly, forcing herself to her feet. She clicks the gun's safety on and shoves it in her coat pocket. Thinking fast, she grabs Roger's crutches and hurtles them onto his front porch, leaving the one legged man without a way to get up. It's cruel and dirty, but she's bleeding out of a bullet wound that he gave her, so she isn't too keen on playing fair right now.

"No!" Faith snaps hysterically, "You aren't! Blake, you need to go to a hospital right now, you're bleeding everywhere."

"No," Blake says firmly, "I can't go to the hospital."

Roger chuckles darkly, "So she doesn't know?" he asks, his previous grin coming back to flood through his features as he presses a palm to his bleeding temple.

"She's just someone who gave me a ride," Blake growls, curling her fingers into Roger's shirt. Fury flies through Blake like a strike of lightning as she drags Roger closer to her face. "She's not involved in anyway," she seethes, hating the scheming grin on Roger's face. Throwing him to the ground, she backs away, resisting the urge to kick the grin off of his face.

Faith's cellphone clatters to the ground, the battery popping out and sliding against the asphalt. "Blake," she breathes, staring at the taller woman in horror. "Blake, your eyes," she whispers, her heartbeat speeding up.

Blake immediately clenches her eyes shut, turning her face away from Faith. A cold hand of ice ghosts along her spine as the look of horror on Faith's face sears into Blake's memory, her freckled face drawn in terrified confusion, her huge brown eyes watching Blake wearily, her slender fingers clenched into trembling fists by her sides.

Roger uses this opportunity to the fullest, "That's right, our little Blake here isn't human. She's a monster. She'll rip your throat out and leave your body to rot."

Blake turns to look at Faith, her eyes heavy with guilt. She opens her mouth to try and somehow salvage the situation, but Faith beats her to it. "That's not true!" she yells, glaring down at Roger, vindictively stomping on his hand, causing the downed man to grunt in pain. She turns timidly to Blake, still confused and still scared. "I-I don't know what's going on here, but you're injured, Blake… you need help," she whispers, reaching out with a trembling hand to touch Blake's arm.

"That's the best part!" Roger howls with laughter. "She doesn't need help, she's already healing!"

"Shut up!" Blake hisses, pinning a glowing blue glare on Roger.

"What's he talking about?" Faith asks quietly, stepping closer to Blake. Meekly, her hand reaches out to grasp the hem of Blake's shirt, peeling the cloth back to reveal the gunshot wound, which has already stopped bleeding and started the process of mending. Faith jerks back, stumbling away from Blake. "What… what are you?" she asks.

"I can explain later," Blake says, snatching her duffel bag off the ground and rooting through it to find her first aid kit. "Right now I need to get that bullet out or I'm going to heal around it," she says, yanking the clasps of the first aid kit open and grabbing a pair of tweezers and a tiny bottle of rubbing alcohol. "Please, just make sure he doesn't do anything," she pleads, pulling the gun out of her pocket and pressing it into Faith's hands.

The look Faith gives her resembles a lamb being sent to slaughter, her heart rate shooting into overdrive, "I don't know how to use this," she whispers.

"It's okay," Blake reassures, "you'll be okay, I promise. Just point it at him, he won't move. He won't hurt you, I won't let him," she says quickly, trying to get Faith's heartbeat to slow down. She doesn't want her to be scared. Faith nods jerkily, leaving Blake to the unsavory business of extracting a bullet from her abdomen. She doesn't remember taking the last one out, she assumes Derek must have done it, but she's done it for other people before. It can't be that hard.

Grabbing the tweezers, she douses them in rubbing alcohol to sterilize them before leaning against the trunk of her vandalized car. The longer she waits, the harder it will become on account of the healing tissue. She knows this, but she can't help but hesitate. Steeling herself, she pulls up the hem of her shirt and tucks it under her arm to keep it out of the way. Taking a deep breath, she releases it slowly and pushes the tweezers into the bullet hole, wincing at the extremely painful jolt of cold metal and rubbing alcohol. Keeping her breathing as steady as possible, she pushes the tweezers deeper, gritting her teeth against the pain. Finally, the tweezers hit the bullet and she carefully maneuvers them so that they're gripping the metal projectile… and begins to pull. This part is a hundred times more painful than the first, sharp pulses of agony radiating from the wound every time the bullet moves in the slightest. Tightening her grip on the tweezers, she gives one last tug and the bullet is freed from her skin.

Breathing raggedly, Blake presses a hand to her stomach, where blood is pouring freely once more on account of all of the disturbances in the clotted blood. Using her cleaner hand, she retrieves an alcohol wipe out of the first aid kit and tears it open with her teeth. After pulling the alcohol soaked wipe out of the package, she cleans off the tweezers before placing them back into the kit and then begins to wipe down her hands.

"You… You got it out?" Faith asks, her voice quivering slightly.

"She got it, alright," Roger drawls, not quite as happy as he was before. "Knew I shoulda put wolfsbane bullets in that gun," he snorts, shaking his head. "Didn't think you'd be stupid enough to come back here, though," he mutters to himself.

"Yes," Blake says, scowling at Roger's muttered words. "I got it out."

"Are you… going to be okay?" Faith asks hesitantly.

"I'll be fine," Blake says, glancing away guiltily. "It will heal completely within a couple hours."

"O-Oh," Faith breathes shakily, finally moving the gun away to point somewhere other than Roger. Blake's the only one who knows that the safety was on the entire time. "Are you going to tell me what's going on now?"

Blake's shoulder slump and her eyes immediately are shamefully cast to the ground. "Yes, I'll tell you everything," she promises. "But you have to wait until I cleanup here." Faith nods shakily in agreement, taking a subtle step away from Blake. Blake notices, guilt eating at her heart. She should have never allowed Faith to come. It was a stupid selfish decision and now Faith is going to suffer for it.

"Go wait for me at your truck, I'll be there soon," Blake lies, turning to Roger and wondering how she'll get him back into the house without having him attempt anything. He's so angry and vindictive right now; he'd probably do anything to cause her harm.

"No… you won't," Faith says, staring at Blake. "You're not going to come back… are you?" she asks, seeing straight through Blake's lie.

"No," Blake agrees, "I'm not."

Faith shifts her weight from foot to foot, her eyes locking onto Blake's face, though Blake is determinedly looking in the other direction. "I'm staying here then."

Blake nods softly, "I take that to mean I can't change your mind, then." Sighing, she leans down and picks Roger up by his armpits at if he were a giant toddler, holding him at arms-length so he can't do anything but turn his head to glare petulantly and wish a thousand violent deaths upon Blake. "Go open his door for me, please," she says, glaring back at Roger. Faith nods quickly and jogs off to do as Blake asked. Roger would be nearly impossible for her to lift when she was human, but now he's nearly weightless. Walking slowly backwards so Roger can't kick her or offer any sort of resistance, Blake drags him back into his tiny red brick house and sets him his couch. His crutches are still on his porch, meaning that he'll have to retrieve them before he could actually do any harm. It's another cruel and dirty thing to do to a disabled man, but somehow Blake isn't in the most sympathetic of moods.

Shutting and locking Roger's door behind her, Blake steps onto the porch and glances nervously at Faith, who, surprisingly and unsurprisingly at the same time, hasn't left yet. "So… you want the whole story, huh?" Blake asks, sticking her hands in her coat pockets.

Faith shrugs, "I do… but I don't. It's a crazy feeling. I want to know so bad, I want to understand. But at the same time, I'm scared…" she trails off, unsure of what to say. "You're just… the first friend I've had in a very long time."

Blake hastily blinks the building tears away and gives a small bitter laugh, "You couldn't have picked a worse person to befriend if you tried," she says breezily, striding across Roger's lawn to pick up her bags. "Maybe you'd change your mind about being my friend if I told you that there's a timestamp on my life and it's quickly running out."

"What?" Faith whispers, her eyes narrowing in confusion as she quickly follows Blake.

"I'm going to die soon, Faith," Blake says bluntly, shaking her head. "Everything would be better for you if you forgot about me."

"No!" Faith snaps immediately. "I'm not going to forget about you, quit trying to make me! Why do you keep trying to push me away?" she asks, her eyes shining with frustrated tears. "I just want to help."

Blake blinks at the heated reply, a small smiling tugging at her lips against her will. "Okay," she relents, "I guess… I guess that I should start at the beginning," she says to herself, running at hand through her hair. She might as well get the biggest surprise out of the way. "For starters," she pauses to bend down and heft her duffel bag onto her shoulder along with her backpack, "werewolves are real."

Faith's face drops, her expression falling into an angry scowl. "Seriously, Blake? Quit fucking with me."

Blake sighs, expecting that sort of reaction, "I am being serious, Faith. You've seen some pretty impossible things tonight, haven't you?" she asks, pulling the hem of her shirt up to reveal the bullet wound, which is now completely healed on the surface, though she can still feel the internal damage.

"That—That's not possible. You can't just—you can't just heal from a gunshot wound like that!" Faith stammers, staring up at Blake in frantic disbelief.

Blake shrugs and shakes her head. "If you can't redefine what's impossible and possible… then maybe you shouldn't hear the whole story," she says softly, picking up the black case and beginning to walk. She marvels once more at her new strength, the combined weight of three bags not even fazing her. She's going to escort Faith back to her truck and after that she's going to find somewhere to stay for the night. And that should be the last time she sees Faith. Dragging Faith into more of her problems is the last thing Blake wants to do. It would be selfish, stupid, and dangerous. She's already been put in too much danger.

"O-Okay," Faith says, taking a deep breath. "Maybe you're right, maybe I shouldn't hear it…" she admits, causing a weak smile to pull on Blake's lips. "But I want to anyway."

Blake gives Faith a backwards glance, her eyebrow arching in surprise. What does it take to push this woman away? "Alright," Blake shrugs. "I'll tell you when we get back to your truck." Maybe by then Blake will come up with an excuse or reason not to tell Faith the rest of the story.

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much to all the follows, favorites, and reviews! But the most reviews I've ever gotten on one chapter is 4, let's see if we can change that TODAY! Because you are all so awesome, I think we can do it. It doesn't have to be long! Just tell me something you liked or didn't like. Did you have a favorite line from this chapter? Is there anything you have a question about? I would really love to hear any thoughts you have! Thanks for reading! :)


	9. The Second Moon

A/N: So the first Monday without Teen Wolf passes... this is going to be a long wait. Sooo... Derek's in this chapter. Technically. Fret not, dear ones. He'll be in the next chapter and the next chapter after that and the next after that. Basically, there's more Derek in the coming chapters. SO YEAH. Get excited.

Guest: Aww, thank you. Faith will be around, just not in quite the same way. She has a job, after all. Derek's in this chapter, but only briefly. The NEXT chapter though, he's definitely in that one. Thanks so much for your review. :)

* * *

When Faith and Blake arrive back at Faith's truck, Faith immediately rounds on Blake. "Okay, I waited until we got back to the truck, now can you please tell me what's going on and why that guy back there tried to kill you?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. It's supposed to be an angry gesture, but really it just looks like she's hugging herself and trying to contain her fear. "And… why you healed from that gunshot wound. I watched you pull a bullet out of your stomach, but now there's not a scratch."

"There is," Blake says, laying a hand over her still sore stomach. "It's just all internal."

"That's not what I meant, Blake!" Faith snaps indignantly. "You said that werewolves are real…" she trails off, her heartbeat speeding up. "Does that make you one? He said you weren't human, was he telling the truth?"

Blake raises her shoulders and drops them despondently, "Humans don't shrug off wounds like that," she says simply.

Faith's heartbeat spikes again, causing Blake to wince. "So you are a werewolf," she breathes, trembling.

"It doesn't matter," Blake says bluntly, re-situating the duffel bag's strap on her shoulder. She takes one last glance at Faith before turning away, striding in the direction of the main part of town, hoping to find a motel or somewhere to hole up in for the night.

"Wait!" Faith yells, digging her fingers into the material of Blake's sleeve. "Where are you going? I thought... I thought you were going to tell me."

Blake turns to look at her, causing Faith to flinch and drop Blake's sleeve abruptly. Blake frowns at her reaction, running a rough hand through her hair. "You're terrified," she says quietly. "I can see you trembling, I can hear your heart speeding up, I can tell your breathing is uneven… You're scared I'm going to hurt you, and I don't want to scare you anymore," Blake explains, taking another step away from Faith.

"I-I'm not scared," Faith says stubbornly, curling her fingers into Blake's sleeve again.

"That was a lie," Blake says easily, slowly turning to face Faith. "I could hear your heartbeat jump when you said it." Mentally she thanks Derek for showing her that little trick.

"O-Okay! I'm petrified! I am SO scared right now! I-I just smashed a guy upside the head with a rock after he shot the first friend I've had in a LONG time, then I watched that friend pull the bullet out of her stomach with a pair of _tweezers_, and then after that she healed immediately and dropped the 'werewolves are real' bomb on me and then tried to run away!" Faith explodes, not stopping to breathe in the long stream of words. She takes a gasping breath and covers her face with her hands. Her next words are slightly muffled, "I just want to know what's going on and why people are trying to kill you... Are you a criminal?"

Blake's startled into an abrupt giggle, which causes Faith to peek through her fingers with a glare. "I'm sorry," Blake apologizes, smiling slightly. "No, I'm not a criminal."

"Then… what are you and why are you going to die soon?" Faith asks, her shoulders slumping.

"You're right," Blake says, giving up on escaping without an explanation. She drops the black case on the ground and parks her butt on it, using the expensive case of weapons as a stool. "I am a werewolf."

Faith nods, gulping. "I see," she says shakily. "S-So… werewolves are real."

"That's right," Blake agrees. "They have fangs and claws and senses better than you could ever imagine. They're faster than you, stronger than you, and harder to kill than you'd believe. When they start to lose control, the first thing to change is their eye color. Anything that gets their pulse racing could cause a shift," Blake licks her lips, sighing. "They also live as regular humans, you could pass one on the street and never even know it."

"That's… That's why your eyes changed when you got angry at that man," Faith breathes. "I still don't understand why he wanted to kill you though."

"There are people out there called hunters. They know about werewolves and they track them down to kill them. In short, that man was a hunter and he wanted to kill me because I'm a werewolf," Blake explains, standing up. "It's late," she observes, shouldering her duffel bag once more. "You should get some sleep."

"And you're just going to disappear, aren't you?" Faith says, anger creeping into her voice. "You're just going to tell me all of those things and disappear… and leave me with the knowledge that werewolves exist and that there are people out there hunting them and you're being hunted… and you expect me to just let you walk away?"

"Yes," Blake says, "I expect you to just let me walk away because I'm a danger to you and the longer you're around me, the more danger you'll be in. Did you know that once a month werewolves lose control and turn into brainless monsters that will kill anything that breathes?"

"I knew that," Faith says weakly, "the movies… they got that right if nothing else."

Blake breathes a meek laugh and shakes her head, "Movies are fiction, this is real, and this is serious. You could've died tonight because you were with me."

"And you got shot tonight for no reason!" Faith retorts angrily, her fists clenching at her sides.

"There was a reason," Blake says firmly. "I got shot because I'm a werewolf." There's a distinct difference between getting shot for no reason and getting shot because she's a danger to everyone around her.

"Your family… you said they were hunters. Did they hunt werewolves?" Faith asks, wrapping her arms around herself. When Blake nods, she continues. "Then… how are you a werewolf?" she asks timidly.

Blake sighs, rubbing a hand down her face. "That's a long story," she says, "and I still have to find somewhere to stay," as the words leave her mouth, she wraps her fingers around the handle on the black case and begins to try to walk away from Faith for what must've been the fourth or fifth time.

And Faith, keeping the record going, stops her again. "Please," she says softly, "don't leave. Maybe, maybe I'm crazy and I'll really regret this… but please don't leave. I want to help you," she pauses and rubs her eyes. "We can go get rooms at a motel or something, but I don't want you to leave."

Blake's shoulders slump, she isn't sure what to do with Faith. Usually people give up trying to get to know her, but Faith has already had a sample of just how crazy Blake's life is… and she's still determined to stay. Blake owes her, especially after everything Faith's done for her. "Okay," Blake relents. She really hopes she's not making a mistake.

* * *

After finding a place to safely park Faith's truck, the two of them checked into the closest motel. Unfortunately, instead of getting two rooms like they planned, there was only one room available. They decided to share, rather grudgingly on Blake's part because it only made it all the easier for Faith to question her. But once the seal on Blake's lips was broken, everything came flooding out. She started the story with Kate using Wess as bait to lure the alpha out and told Faith everything in between. That includes being bitten in the alley way, almost dying after being shot with wolfsbane and being saved by Derek, her disastrous phone call with Starla and the confrontation with Derek in her motel room after that, meeting Derek on the full moon and losing control, and finally getting that call from Starla that told her to head to Beacon Hills. To wrap everything up, she explained a little bit more about Roger and why he acted the way he did.

It's a conversation that lasts at least two hours and by the end Blake's close to ripping chunks of her own hair out on account of all of the stress of reliving the events. Faith seems to be absorbing all of the information in her own way; quietly chewing her fingernail and asking the occasional question about a situation as she sits curled up one of the beds in the room.

When Blake finishes the explanation, Faith takes a deep breath and pulls her hair tie out of her curls, "So… you got bitten by an angry werewolf out for revenge, your dog got stolen by some bitch who shot you with wolfsbane, and you promised your old babysitter that she could kill you and take your dog if she helped you find him," sighing, she pulls her hair back up into a pony. "Is that right?"

"Yeah," Blake shrugs. "That's… That's about right."

"This whole situation is… completely insane. Just this morning I thought werewolves were a myth," laughing weakly, Faith drags a hand down her face. "I was right about one thing though," she says, glancing at Blake from between her fingers.

Blake rubs her eyes and holds back a yawn, "What's that?" she asks sleepily.

"You needed a friend," Faith says simply. "I saw you walking on the side of the road all alone and usually you don't see female hitchhikers. And then you got in the cab and you seemed… so out of it. You immediately started staring out the window as soon as you got in with—with this _look _on your face that was so sad, but so angry… then when I got you to finally talk…" Faith trails off and shrugs, glancing away nervously.

Confusion wrinkling her features, Blake studies Faith, noting her heavy eyes and pursed lips. "What is it?" she asks gently, trying to coax Faith into finishing her thought.

"It's just, when you finally talked, all of the people you talked about were dead…" Faith says quietly, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "It just… struck a chord in me. I don't really have anyone else, either."

Blake turns her head, not able to look Faith in the eyes on account of the guilt and shame coursing through her. Faith never had a family at all and Blake never got along with hers… but at least she had the chance to have one. Faith didn't have that. And now, she has to tell Faith goodbye in the morning. If she doesn't and something bad happens to Faith it's going to be entirely Blake's fault. "We should get some sleep," she says finally, extracting herself from the uncomfortable desk chair and heading to her backpack to grab some sleeping clothes.

"Wait," Faith says, her face flushing in embarrassment. "Could I… Um, can you… Can you control the, uh, werewolf change?" she asks, curling her fingers into the hem of her shirt.

"You… want to see me shift?" Blake asks skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, well, I… I guess," Faith shrugs in forced nonchalance, causing Blake to smirk at her obvious discomfort, "I just wondered if you could… It'd be… um, helpful to understanding all of this," she says making vague gesture to the air.

Blake sighs and runs a hand through her hair. She owes Faith some sort of concrete proof. Faith saw her eyes change and her healing, but if she wants to see the full thing, Blake at least owes her that much. "Yeah, I think I can," she says flippantly.

"You… aren't sure?" Faith asks nervously.

"You'll be fine, I promise," Blake says, pulling Wess's collar out of her backpack. She hasn't really experimented with her werewolf-ness, so she wants to be sure she can stay in complete control. "If I thought it was too dangerous, I wouldn't do it," she explains, trying to calm Faith down. Just to be sure, she grabs the handgun she stole from Roger and switches the safety off. "Here," she says, passing it to Faith. "Keep your finger off the trigger until you're sure you have to shoot," she advises.

"W-What?" Faith gasps, staring at the gun in horror. "I don't want to shoot you!"

"I'm almost positive you won't have to," Blake says, "but I don't want you to be unarmed in case anything happens." She remembers being in complete control for an hour or two on the night of the full moon, when the influence of the moon was strong. It's not the full moon right now, meaning it should be easier to control now than it was on that night. Wess's collar was enough to anchor her then, it should be enough now. And, if it has to come to it, Faith has a gun. If Blake can't control it, the bullet should be enough to bring her back. "If I make any sudden moves towards you, don't hesitate, okay? I'm not kidding, Faith. I'll heal, it won't kill me."

"Okay," Faith breathes, her eyes wide.

Placing herself on the opposite side of the room to make sure Faith has enough time to react if things go wrong, Blake takes a deep breath and allows her heart rate to shoot into overdrive, pulling her inner werewolf to the outside. Inside her mind, a reel of memories of Wess plays while her fingers clench around his collar. The pain that came when she shifted the first couple times is curiously absent, replaced by a gentle yet insistent tug on her consciousness as her features contort slowly into her other side, the one more prone to maiming and killing things. When it's done, she slowly opens her candle flame blue eyes.

Faith's eyes widen, her heart beating at a frenzied pace. "Wow," she breathes, putting a hand over her heart.

Blake nods and snorts a harsh, growling laugh, "I can see how this would be… a little much to take." But she had kept her head when she shifted, she didn't go berserk and try to kill Faith. That's good enough for right now.

"Your teeth, holy shit…" Faith squeaks, staring at Blake's enlarged canines. "They have to be over an inch long… and your eyebrows grew! And, and there's hair on your face!" she babbles, slowly taking in the horrific transformation of Blake's face. "If I didn't believe you before, I believe you now," Faith sighs, rubbing her eyes.

Blake nods and wills her human features back to life, her widened brow and elongated nose shrinking back to normal at the same time as the hair, teeth, and claws retreat, leaving her fully human—as far as appearances go—once more.

"You should go to sleep now," Blake says, giving Faith a dry glance out of the corner of her eyes. "At least your dreams will be pleasant," she says, giving a guilty breath of a laugh as she grabs her sleeping clothes out of her backpack.

Faith gapes at her openly, "Did you… just make a joke?" she asks, confusion evident in her features and tone. "I didn't think you were the type of person to make jokes…" she says, frowning.

Blake shrugs, choosing not to reply as she vaguely wonders when she had become so…_ humorless. _

* * *

The next morning, Blake tried to insist on Faith going up to Jefferson City without her, but Faith had refused and forced Blake to go with her. She said that the only way she was going to Jefferson was if Blake was riding with her. Blake, feeling responsible for Faith and not wanting her to lose her job, reluctantly agreed.

Once in Jefferson, Faith pushed for a shipment headed to California, insistent on getting Blake to Beacon Hills no matter what, though Blake informed her many, many times that it was unnecessary. They finally parted ways a week after they met on the day of the full moon, only about five miles away from Beacon Hills. Faith protested in her usual manner, not wanting to leave Blake in the middle of the forest, but Blake insisted, putting her foot down and not allowing any arguments. She didn't want to be near anyone during the full moon, especially Faith, who quickly wormed her way into Blake's unwilling heart. If Blake hurt her, even on accident, she would never forgive herself. That's why Blake promised to meet up with her in Beacon Hills to say goodbye. Faith couldn't stay in one place for long on account of her job, so she would be leaving as soon as Blake confirmed with her that she's safe. That doesn't mean Faith agreed with the plan, but she couldn't argue against the full moon.

Blake watches the now-familiar semi-truck as it leaves, listening as the comforting roar of the engine becomes fainter and fainter. When it's completely out of earshot, she sighs and rubs a hand down her face. She had been lonely without Wess, but then Faith came… and now she's alone again. There's no one to distract her from her thoughts.

The forest is denser than the one back in New York, with huge trees, sprawling spruces and towering California redwoods. The ground's a blanket of leaves, twigs and smaller plants like wildflowers, grass, and bushes. The remaining beams of light thrown off by the setting sun filters through the trees with soft red light. She can hear the quiet chattering of squirrels and the light footsteps of a grazing herd of deer further in the forest, joined by the gentle bubbling of a tiny creek. All in all, it's a beautiful forest, though Blake would enjoy it more if she wasn't entering it to become a bloodthirsty beast while an over-sized rock orbiting around the earth made her pissier than usual.

Blake closes her eyes and wanders deeper in to the forest, trusting her nose and ears to keep her out of trouble. Not pausing for even a second, she marches onward as she searches inside herself for her inner werewolf. She might as well change right now when it's still a choice instead of resisting until it's forced upon her. She allows the shift to sweep around her like a wave, smashing into her, crushing her, drowning her. The tenuous level of control she has over her other side is nearly swept up with the fury of the full moon. She almost loses her grip, but a single thought slices through the fury like a bullet; _if she loses control she might kill someone, if she kills someone, she can't save Wess._

Just like that Blake's hold on reality is cemented and though the full moon has terrible voices in her head howling with bloodlust, she's grounded. She's stable. She has a miraculous control over the strains of energy thrumming through her body. Miraculous as in it's a miracle she hasn't gone roaring off into the night, looking to dismember anyone in her path. She needs to find a way to shed some of this energy before she goes insane.

Without warning, Blake breaks into a sprint, pushing herself to gain more and more speed. Even though she's darting through the trees as fast as her legs will carry her, her footsteps stay light, her toes touching down almost gently on the earth before digging in and flinging her forward. She feels free and relaxed, as if she left her worries back on the side of the road.

At least an hour passes as Blake continues to weave through the forest at top speed, changing direction as soon as she gets too close to anything that hints at civilization. She amuses herself performs a flashy ballerina-style leap over a fallen tree and skids to a stop, her boots digging into the soft ground. Her breath is only a smidgeon heavier than usual as her ears pick up the sound of quick footsteps headed in her direction. Sinking into a subtly defensive position, she wearily watches in the direction of the footsteps. The wind delivers a whiff of the person making the footsteps, causing a low rolling growl to reverberate through her. The scent is unfamiliar and belongs to another werewolf.

It doesn't take long for the other werewolf to show himself, a young shirtless male with somewhat shaggy black hair. Blake gives a rumbling warning growl, her claws splayed in preparation. The boy gives no heed to her warning, charging her with his claws drawn. She nimbly ducks out of the way, using her heavy boot to kick the back of his knee as he passes, sending him tumbling to the ground. He leaps to his feet immediately, his muscles coiling like a spring in order to lunge at her again when a branch snaps behind him, drawing his attention.

Standing about 30 feet behind him is Derek Hale. Blake stares at him blankly, completely dumbfounded. What the hell is Derek Hale doing in the woods of Beacon Hills? Apparently the younger werewolf knows him as well, his body trembling with the force of the roar that leaves his lips. Without a backwards glance, he tears after Derek, who had turned and picked up an easy jog in the other direction.

Confused, Blake quietly stalks after them, her footsteps light and nearly silent from years of practice. Her ears track them in tandem with her nose, listening as the younger male roars again, "Where is she?!" he demands.

"Safe," enters Derek's quiet yet firm voice, "away from you."

Still confused, Blake listens as the two begin to scuffle, rolling through the forest debris until one is slammed into a tree. A couple words are exchanged before Derek shushes the younger werewolf, telling him to run. Moments later, the two take off in a sprint, allowing Blake to pick up the footsteps of a group of three people. There's a bang and a piercing flash of light, sending a rough terrified shiver down Blake's spine. She recognizes that to be the calling card of Chris Argent's favorite weapon, the flash bolt. There's a small chance it isn't him, but seeing as he's living in Beacon Hills now, there's a bigger chance it is him. She hasn't even been in Beacon Hills for three hours, there's no way she's going to blow her cover so soon.

With that thought in mind, Blake slinks away. If she can avoid any more hunters or werewolves for the rest of the night, it'll be a success.

* * *

A/N: And that, my dears, concludes chapter nine. I hope you enjoyed! Stay tuned in for the next dramatic installment! As always, I hope you review! I'm kind of an insecure wreck when it comes to my writing, so your reviews help SO MUCH. They just reassure me that you're still happy with the way everything's going and that you're still interested. I can't put into words how much I appreciate you all. :)


	10. The Chill

A/N: What's up, people? I have a new chapter for you lovelies. This chapter's got QUITE a bit more Derek than the last. ;) And as always, I hope you have a happy read.

Guest: Thank you! I love hearing that you're looking forward to the next chapter! And you're welcome for the update, it was my pleasure. :)

* * *

"So," Blake mutters glancing to the side nervously, "you should probably head out."

Faith nods, scuffing her foot on the ground. "I should, but it's not like I want to…" she grumbles, looking up at Blake with hopeful eyes, as if she expects Blake to just change her mind and invite Faith to stay with her forever. Unfortunately, that's not going to happen. The target on Blake's back is too big for that.

Blake shrugs, laughing a little. "You threatened me with quitting your job to get me here," she says lightly. "It's not holding up your end of the deal if you actually do quit." She's going to miss Faith's company, but it's better this way. Things are about to get serious. She has to find the Argent home and keep an eye out for Kate, all the while planning how to get Wess back. Faith can't stay any longer.

"So..?" Faith asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "I could get a job here…" she mutters.

"You already have a job," Blake says. "Besides, I'm always just a phone call away. It's not like you'll…" Blake pauses, swallowing thickly. "It's not like you'll never talk to me again," she finally says. She almost said, 'It's not like you'll never see me again,' but then she remembered that she can't promise Faith will ever see her again.

"I know," Faith says uneasily, gathering her bag. "I just… I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you too," Blake says, looking away uncomfortably. She isn't used to telling people she'll miss them. It hasn't happened since… Well, maybe since high school.

"You better call me as soon as something happens," Faith says sternly, wagging a finger in Blake's face. "If you don't, I swear I'll come down here and kick your little werewolf ass!" When Blake bites her lip to hide her smile, Faith scowls. "I could do it!" she insists, stomping her foot.

"I believe you," Blake grins.

"Good," Faith nods succinctly. She's quiet for a moment before she leans forward and gently pulls Blake into a hug, wrapping her arms tightly around the taller woman. "Take care of yourself, please?" she pleads, tears dripping onto Blake's shoulder.

Blake, stunned into silence, nods numbly and returns hug, her fingers clenched into the fabric of Faith's shirt. How is it possible she got so attached to someone who used to be a stranger a week ago? "I will," she says at last, though she knows that she'll have to disregard those words at some point in the future.

Faith gently untangles herself from Blake's arms and gives a watery grin. "When you get Wess back, give him a hug for me, okay?" she asks, scrubbing her tears away.

"I will," Blake agrees. "You'll be the first to know about it when I get him back," she promises.

"You…" Faith glances away, her heartbeat picking up the tempo. "You aren't actually going to go through with it, are you?" she asks, tears welling up in her eyes again.

Her question is vague, but Blake knows what she means. "Yes," Blake says quietly. "I have to."

"But she's going to kill you!" Faith sobs, bowing her head so that her dark curls fall to hide her face.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Blake says soothingly, placing a comforting hand on Faith's shoulder. "I'm not worried," she says. It's a lie, but at least it's a convincing lie. "You should go now," she says gently, "or you're going to be late picking up your shipment."

"You're right," Faith sniffles, gathering her belongings again and opening the door to their shared motel room. Blake walks Faith out to her truck, which didn't have a trailer attached, making it infinitely easier to park.

"Bye," Faith sniffles, hugging Blake quickly. She climbs reluctantly into the cab, still casting Blake hopeful looks.

Blake knows that this is the part where she's supposed to change her mind and tell Faith to stay. But she can't. "I'll see you later," she says softly, knowing that it might be a lie and that she might not get another chance to see the high-spirited, petite truck driver.

Faith hiccups and rubs the tears out of her eyes, shaking her head. She knows it might be a lie too, but neither can seem to bring it up. "I hope so," she says at last.

Blake gives her a reassuring smile, hoping that it's actually a smile and not the grimace it feels like. Faith pulls the door to her truck closed and waves sadly to Blake as she slides the key into the ignition. Blake waves back as the engine comes to life. Blotting at her eyes, Faith navigates the large vehicle out of the parking lot, leaving Blake to stare after her.

* * *

Blake sighs and rubs her aching eyes, as she walks quietly back to her motel room. After Faith's departure the day before, she got a copy of the local newspaper. One of the ads caught her eye, it was for a club downtown looking for bouncers. Of course, she isn't the ideal person for a bouncer. But she somehow managed to talk the person on the phone into giving her an interview and seeing if she measured up to the requirements.

Right now, she's heading back to her motel room after the job interview. It was a little odd, but she doesn't mind. They had her lift a couple weights to test her physical fitness as well as a few other things. Her height was a huge help, seeing as how she's about the same height as most average men. She has to come back to the club the next day for training, if she makes it through training, she gets the job. It pays well and it gives her something to do. She's actually kind of excited about starting work there, thanks to her unnatural strength it's going to be a breeze. Maybe she'll get a couple kicks out of surprising rowdy patrons.

The purr of a well-tuned engine alerts Blake to the approaching car. She turns to see a sleek black Camaro with darkly tinted windows. She watches it carefully as it screeches to an abrupt stop besides her, her ears catching the sound of it being shifted into park. Soon after the driver's side door flies open and Derek slides out, making Blake frown in confusion. She still doesn't know why he's in Beacon Hills. She doesn't dwell on it for long, instead focusing on the hateful scowl tainting his face and the aggressive hunch of his shoulders as he approaches her.

"Are you with them?" Derek growls as he looms threateningly over Blake, his chest only inches from hers. He's glaring down at her, forcing her to tilt her head slightly to return the gesture.

"With who?" Blake asks, resisting the urge to shove Derek back a couple steps. She doesn't like him being this close, where she can hear the furious rhythm of his heart and smell the slightly spicy mixture of leather and musk, joined by the sharp twang of werewolf.

"Don't act stupid!" he snarls. "Are you with the hunters?!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Blake snaps, shoving him harshly backwards. Her heartbeat skyrockets with her rising anger, his absurd question almost mocking her. "Did you really just ask if I was with the hunters?!" she yells, feeling her eyes change into flickering sapphire as her claws burst from her fingertips. "Do _you_ knowwhat they do to hunters who are turned and don't immediately off themselves?" she asks coldly, punctuating 'you,' by harshly jabbing her clawed finger into his chest. She feels a bubble of blood well up under her finger, absorbing into the material of his shirt. "I'd be treated the same way as an alpha," she hisses. "If I get seen by a hunter, ANY hunter, I'm _dead._"

Derek, refusing to back down, steps closer to her threateningly, "How do I know you're not lying?" he asks coldly. At the sound of a pointed cough, his eyes slide to the side, where a pedestrian is staring scornfully at the bickering pair. "Get in the car," he demands, "we'll talk somewhere else." As the words leave his mouth, he's already striding around the front of the vehicle.

Blake nearly ignores him and continues on her way back to the motel, but her curiosity refuses to let her leave, forcing her to get into the car with Derek Hale, who she can't seem to figure out. She restrains herself from yanking the door open, instead she gently tugs the handle and carefully pulls it ajar. What good would it do for her to try to damage his property and act like a child throwing a tantrum? She slides onto the smooth leather seat and tugs the door closed, her lips pursed into a thin line of cold indifference. Derek shifts the car out of park and hits the gas pedal, the vehicle immediately screeching down the road as it rapidly gains speed.

"I can see why you'd think I was with the hunters seeing as I was there on the night of the full moon," Blake says curtly, trying to keep a leash on her anger. "But I'm no longer associated with any hunters."

"Then why are you here and why were you in the forest that night," Derek asks, though his voice doesn't hold any of the inflection that usually comes with a question. He has an odd way of asking questions without sounding like he's asking a question.

"I've told you before," Blake grits her teeth, her patience wearing thin. "I just want my dog back. Kate has him, and wherever Chris is, Kate shows up," she says tightly, noticing how his fingers tighten dangerously around the steering wheel at Kate's name, making the leather squeak in distress.

"I don't believe you," Derek says, his jaw clenching stubbornly.

Blake's eyes flash into the unnatural bright blue, her claws flexing out from her fingertips out of her control. "I don't care if you don't believe me," she snaps. "I'm telling the truth, and if the hunters find me before I find Wess, I'm in deep shit."

Derek makes an abrupt turn and pulls into a gas station, throwing the car into park next to one of the pumps and killing the engine. He refuses to even look at Blake as they're cast into the abrupt silence left by the absence of the engine. He pulls the keys out of the ignition and slides out of the car, staunchly ignoring his passenger as he circles around to the gas pump. He takes the fuel nozzle and begins to feed gas into the tank.

Blake, indignant with being ignored, pops the door open and steps out. "You know why I'm here," she states, crossing her arms over her chest. "So why are _you _here?" she asks angrily.

Derek reaches into his back pocket and grabs his wallet, shoving it at Blake. "Go pay," he commands. "Thirty dollars at pump four," he elaborates before Blake can say anything in retaliation.

Blake sputters indignantly, her claws tearing gouges into the worn leather wallet. "If you don't have an answer when I come back…" she trails off momentarily, letting the words linger on the air for a moment, "I'm going to smash your teeth in and make you choke on them," she seethes. Before her claws can do anymore damage to the wallet, she forcefully retracts them and reins in her anger. Once she's sufficiently calmed, she strides towards the small convenience store and throws the glass door open. A mechanic bell rings above her head, signaling her presence to the teenaged boy working behind the counter.

Catching sight of the drink fountain, Blake grins vindictively and all but skips over to the machine. She grabs the largest cup they have, which is a whopping 44 ounce bucket of a cup, and fills the entire thing with blue raspberry slushie. It takes a couple minutes on account of the machine's spluttering, but eventually she has 44 ounces of semi-frozen blue goodness. Licking her lips, Blake grabs a straw and ferries her prize over to the cashier's counter. She sets the monster of a cup down and pulls Derek's torn wallet out of her coat pocket. She allows the cashier to scan the cup before she brings the straw to her lips and takes a pull of the cold, delightfully tart slushie.

"Will that be all for you, ma'am?" the cashier asks indifferently, his question robotic from being drilled into him during his training.

Blake nods and starts to fish a five dollar bill out of Derek's battered wallet before frowning and gulping down her mouthful of slushie. "Thirty on pump four, please," she grumbles, abruptly remembering what she had been sent in for in the first place. She continues to suck on the straw, her lips slowly turning blue from the vibrantly dyed drink. She hands the cashier a fifty dollar bill, waiting patiently for him to process it and hoping that he shorts Derek on change. She's definitely not going to count, much less complain.

Once the transaction's finished, Blake shoves Derek's wallet in her coat pocket and steps out of the building, the same mechanic bell sounding as she does. She makes it halfway to the car before she finally takes her attention off of her slushie. What she sees makes her flinch and her stomach tighten with worry. There are two huge SUVs boxing in Derek's Camaro, men with hunting rifles loitering around him. One of the men is Chris Argent, she recognizes him on account of his sharp profile and tall stature. Why couldn't she just avoid him?

"You forgot to check the oil," comes Derek's sarcastic voice.

Chris smirks smugly, his piercing blue eyes sliding over to his lackeys. "Check the man's oil," he commands, a sharp note of smug malice entering his voice. Chuckling stupidly to himself, one of the lackeys strides forward and smashes the butt of his rifle through Derek's window, causing Blake to flinch and nearly lose her grip on her slushie on account of her sweating palms.

Chris's eyes cut over to Blake, lingering on her for a moment before a wicked smile curls his lips. He recognizes her, no doubt about it. "I see you've picked up one of our strays," he comments easily, the weight of his gaze makes Blake want to vomit with nervousness. "But we can take care of her from here on out."

"What, you mean by killing her?" Derek hisses quietly, stepping closer to Chris.

"Yes," Chris agrees, not hesitating for a second. "She knew that if she got bit, it was her duty to do what needed to be done. When she didn't, it became the duty of every hunter who knew her."

Blake's heart is beating so hard it feels like it's going to burst through her chest at any second and flop around like a fish out of water. Chris turns toward her and takes a threatening step forward, his eyes hard with determination. Blake stumbles backwards in terror, the huge Styrofoam cup slipping through her sweaty fingers. It hits the ground and explodes with a stiff pop, splattering her jeans with freezing cold slushie.

Chris smirks wickedly at her fear, taking another step and basking in her terror. "You know, your parents were such great hunters, it's a pity they had to die the way they did," he remarks. "If they were here, they'd be ashamed of you…" he says, using a fake tone of sympathy as he steps even closer to Blake. She scrambles backwards, tripping over her own feet in her desperation to escape and landing hard on her butt. Her breath comes in short terrified bursts as the acrid taste of fear floods through her mouth, mixing with the lingering tartness of blue raspberry.

Derek's hand whips out and wraps around Chris's forearm, "She hasn't done anything," he growls. "Leave her alone."

Chris chuckles darkly, "You mean she hasn't done anything _yet,_" he corrects. "But for now we'll let her enjoy her freedom a little longer, she'll be taken care of eventually." After he delivers his last threat, he and his gang climb into their oversized vehicles and speed off, leaving Blake to deal with the aftermath.

Trembling all over Blake screams and punches the ground, desperately blinking away the terrified tears that gather in her eyes. They know she's here now. They're going to be looking for her. Surely, Chris will tell Kate exactly what's going on. She knew that it'd be impossible to get Wess back without running into at least one hunter, but she just ran into one of the main ringleaders. It's only been two days since she arrived in Beacon Hills, too. Somehow she had hoped to stay undetected longer. Chris will inform his wife of Blake's presence, and his wife will decide how to deal with Blake and regarding former-hunters, mercy is almost never utilized.

Gritting her teeth, Blake shoves herself to her feet and tries in vain to brush some of the dried oil off of the seat of her pants. It seems like she fell right into an old puddle of the gritty black substance. Her fingers won't stop quivering and her stomach aches with worry, but she can't do anything about it now. What's done is done. There will be no changing it.

Glancing over at Derek, who had been watching her carefully, Blake frowns. Fishing his wallet out of her pocket, she flings it at him, using a little more force than necessary though he still catches it easily. Slowly zipping her coat up, Blake shoves her hands in her pockets and makes her way over to the street. She doesn't care to find out why Derek's in Beacon Hills anymore. It doesn't matter. She doesn't understand why he defended her against Chris, but that doesn't matter either. The only thing that currently matters is that if she wasn't with him, her cover wouldn't have been blown. She wouldn't have been threatened. She wouldn't have slushie squishing around in her shoes and irritating her with every step. And she definitely wouldn't have a huge oil stain on her ass.

"Wait," Derek says, his voice lacking the usual hatred he addressed her with. "Let me give you a ride," he says, and if Blake didn't know any better, she'd say he sounded a little guilty. But she knew better.

Blake turns to face him, a harsh refusal on her lips when she remembers she isn't sure how to get to her motel from here. Besides, the oil on her butt would look nice on his leather seats. "Why?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest as she approaches the car.

Derek doesn't say anything, instead quietly opening the driver side door and getting in, Blake huffs angrily and does the same, climbing into the passenger seat. "Do you believe me now?" she asks snappishly, feeling the oil on her pants stick to the seat with a small measure of satisfaction.

"Yes," Derek growls reluctantly, sounding almost physically pained to admit it, "I believe you."

"Good," Blake says flatly, staring out the window at the passing scenery. It's not like it helps anything now. Whether he believes her or not, it doesn't change the situation in the slightest. She belatedly realizes, with no small amount of sadness, that the overwhelming majority of her slushie had been wasted and now it's soaking into her shoes and dripping onto Derek's floorboard. Somehow she can't find it within herself to drudge up the appropriate level of guilt.

* * *

A/N: So that's it for this week, dears. I hope you liked it! And if you liked it, review! I know I'm always whining about reviews, but they help immensely. I love knowing how you all feel and what your thoughts are. It helps me so much! :)


	11. The Infection

A/N: Hey guys! Here's the next chapter. We're finally getting into more of the events on the show, but that doesn't mean I'm going to be following it very closely. There will be points in this story that deviate from the show. I suppose it'll be mildly AU. Also, chapters might start slowing down soon, I'm running out of pre-written chapters. :( It's hard to keep posting every week. Anyway, tons of Derek in this chapter! Hope y'all enjoy!

Thanks so much for all of the follows, favorites and reviews. They mean so much to me, so keep it up guys! :)

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Working at The Jungle is different from most jobs Blake's ever had. Her job is to stand at the front and check IDs mostly, but she was told that sometimes she'll be stationed inside to monitor the crowds, and sometimes she'll be out in the back, helping unload shipments. Generally most of the customers of The Jungle are gay, so they rarely bother to try to sweet talk their way in, which suits Blake fine. Another hidden advantage to her status as a werewolf is that it's incredibly easy to spot fake IDs on account of her enhanced eyesight. She got a special kind of joy from grinning at minors and asking them questions about what was written on the ID. Sometimes they cracked and accidentally said their actual birthday, to which she politely, and smugly, confiscates their ID and asks them to step out of line.

The only con to working there, so far anyway, is that the hours. She played gatekeeper for the entire shift, and after that she helped close the bar and clean up. When she finally went home it was morning already. She's a little used to it from working at the diner back in New York, but she had been sleeping during the night the last two weeks like a normal person.

The cheerful yellow ball of fire shines brightly behind Blake, shining right into the gold metal numbers on the door before her. In turn, the light is reflected right into her eyes with all the accuracy of an expert marksman. She grumbles and squints as she shoves the key into the doorknob of her motel room. This one is bare boned and empty, no lilac floral-print walls, no zebra patterned bed covers, no ridiculously purple bathtubs. It has clinical white walls, a bed with navy-colored blankets, a simple oak end table, a long, squat dresser with a cubical TV perched on it, and a closet with mirrored sliding doors. The bathroom is sparsely decorated with modestly colored tile and pale porcelain. There weren't any complimentary soaps or shampoos or conditioners. Only dingy towels with concerning rusty brown stains.

Carelessly tossing her keys onto the end table with a clatter, Blake kneels to ruffle through her backpack for something clean to wear to bed. Her handy-dandy sniffer tells her whether or not an item is clean, which is usually helpful, except for when she'd rather not know how disgusting that item in question really is. All she wants is a simple shirt to sleep in, but unfortunately, storing dirty clothes with clean clothes makes the clean clothes just as dirty as the dirty clothes. It's simple science, really.

Blake grumbles angrily, yanking the zipper closed and awkwardly shifting her position from her knees to her butt in order to deliver a kick to the backpack, sending it skidding across the floor. She'd have to start a load of laundry right now if she's going to have clothes to go out for food later. It's either wash clothes now and be able to eat as soon as she wakes up, or go to sleep now and have to wait for clean clothes before she goes out to eat. She'd also have to sleep naked if she waited to do laundry, which wouldn't be such a big deal if she trusted the cleanliness of the sheets more. But, as it is, this room smells faintly of blood, sex, and bleach. She's afraid if she sleeps naked she'll catch something from the sheets.

Laundry it is then.

* * *

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

Blake's eyes snap open as the sound jars her from a deep sleep, searching for any signs of a disruption in her room. Sounds flood her ears, informing her of her surroundings more accurately than her eyes. The first thing she hears that's of interest to her, is the panicked heartbeat outside her door. Accompanying the panicked heartbeat is another, more sedate rhythm.

"What are we doing here? This is the kind of place where the people in a horror movie would spend the night! D'you know why it's a horror movie?! _Because they get stabbed to death in their sleep!"_ the voice hisses frantically. It belongs to a male, at the very least. Probably younger, but she isn't sure. "You know, this is incredibly shady and if I die, you'll have too many witnesses—"

"Shut up!" another much deeper voice snaps, sounding familiar to Blake. Maybe if they say something else, she can identify the voice. She pauses, straining her ears for another sample of the voice on the other side of her door. The banging on her door resumes again, _BANG! BANG! BANG!, _a quick three beats that makes her groan with irritation. "I know you're in there," the voice growls, allowing her to recognize the owner.

Blake huffs in anger, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and striding over to the door. Of course it's Derek. Why can't he just leave her alone? Once she reaches the door, she flings it open and squints at the pair of people lingering outside her door. It's probably about 8:30 at night, she has no idea why they'd be bothering her now. "What do you want from me?" she spits, not bothering to rein in her acute distaste for the man in front of her. Beside him is a lanky teenaged boy, who's as pale as milk and has the wide eyes of a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. The air outside the door is thick with infection and a grim undertone of blood. Derek's eyes have angry purple bruise-like rings under them while his pale cheeks shine with sweat.

"She's almost naked!" the teen squeaks, bashfully averting his eyes. "Oh my GOD! Why are we at the sleazy motel room of an angry naked woman?!"

Blake scoffs, "I'm not naked," she says simply. And it's true, she's not naked. She's wearing underwear and a shirt—Derek's shirt, by the way. The same one he gave to her back in New York after he attacked her from behind and shredded her bra. Turning her eyes on Derek, she frowns. "You smell like death," she says blankly. It's funny now that she thinks about it, but those were the first words he said to her… and now she gets to throw them back in his face. Judging by the atomic scowl that develops from her words, the significance is not lost on him.

"That's what I said!" the teen exclaims, grinning at Blake as his previous embarrassment at her state of undress is forgotten.

Blake is startled into a small grin at his excitement, pleasantly surprised by his sudden exuberance. Derek, on the other hand, is not so amused by their abrupt camaraderie. A deep growl reverberates through his chest as he pushes past Blake and into her room, making a beeline for her backpack. He immediately yanks open the pocket that used to hold her wolfsbane bullets and begins to rifle through it.

"Is this going to become a habit?" Blake asks drily, crossing her arms over her chest. "It seems like every time I see you, you're going through my belongings. Any particular reason?"

Derek levels a glare on her, sweat rolling down his face. "Where are they?"

"The bullets?" Blake asks, putting a finger to her lips in faked confusion. "Oh, I don't know… maybe back in that forest where I hurled them dramatically into the horizon? I could've sworn you were there," she says sardonically, snapping her fingers in a 'oh shoot!' gesture.

"Bullets?" the teen pipes up, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise, "Why would she have bullets? Who is she?" he asks, looking skeptically at Blake. After a moment, he continues with one last frantic question. "Why is she STILL naked?!"

"I'm not naked," Blake insists, gesturing to her shirt. It covers her underwear completely, and if she avoids bending over, the only thing it shows is her legs.

"She's a hunter," Derek replies breathily, stumbling slightly as he shoves himself to his feet. His breathing is heavy and labored, his movements slow and jerky. From what little information's been thrown around, she can safely assume he's been shot with wolfsbane.

"Oh, that's just great!" the teen barks sarcastically, running a hand through his buzzed dark hair. "I thought we were trying to, you know, SAVE your little werewolf ass, not hand it right over to the hunter!"

Blake's chest tightens at the familiar title, a peculiar mixture of shame and longing washing over her. "_Was,_"she corrects, casting her eyes to the side. "I was a hunter."

"That's even better!" he says loudly, placing both hands on top of his head, overwhelmed with the situation. "She's retired! Maybe she'll give up tips on how to best decapitate people!" he shouts hysterically.

"Stiles!" Derek snaps, breaking the teen out of his hysteria. Blake's stomach clenches, her teeth setting on edge as she tries to fight back the crushing wave of guilt. He's right, she could give him those kinds of tips. Once upon a time she was utilizing them to kill people. She deserved that remark, as well as many other things.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have what you need," Blake says softly. She takes a deep breath to stabilize herself. "You should hurry up though, the infection's only going to get worse from here."

The teen, whose name she assumes is Stiles, glances away uncomfortably, "Hey, I didn't—I didn't mean to make it sound that way. I was just…" he sighs and ruffles a hand through his hair, his tone heavy with guilt. He looks at her with his huge brown eyes, looking for all the world like a child who dropped their ice cream.

"Well," Blake pauses to lick her lips, "it sounded like the truth," she says, shrugging off his half-apology. She starts talking again before he has the chance. "To answer your earlier questions, my name's Blake," she greets, sticking her hand out for him to shake. "And I'm not naked," she insists for the third time. "I'm wearing a shirt."

He glances at her awkwardly before taking her hand and shaking it, "Uh, Stiles," he says gracelessly, before floundering slightly at his mistake. "My name! Uh, my name's Stiles," he corrects, making some blundering hand gestures as if to explain away his verbal mistake.

Blake gives him a small smile, before sliding her eyes over to Derek, where her smile falls short. "You should really go, you know," she says, rubbing her arm nervously. "You're not going to last much longer."

"I know," he rasps, stumbling over to the door. Stiles glances at Blake unsurely, wondering whether or not he's supposed to follow Derek, before he hesitantly trails after the poisoned man.

"Wait," Blake mutters, knowing that Derek will hear her. "It would make me feel better if I came with you."

"Come on then," Derek replies, turning halfway to look at her, exhaustion and pain clear in his eyes. Sweat courses down his face and his breathing is hard, like he just four miles without stopping. Though, she isn't sure even that would make him breathe harder, werewolf stamina and all that.

Blake grabs a pair of faded blue jeans off the dresser, where she stacked them after doing the laundry, and hastily shimmies into them. Then she grabs her boots and jogs out the door barefoot, tugging it closed after her. At the sound of the door closing, Stiles turns away from the light metallic blue Jeep to shoot her a questioning look.

Blake shrugs and sheepishly holds up her boots, "D'you mind if I tag along?" she asks, making her way over to the Jeep, which she assumes belongs to Stiles.

"Um… no," Stiles says lamely, his heartbeat quickening. Blake cocks an eyebrow at him, wondering what that 'no,' meant. Did it mean, 'No, I don't want you to come,' or 'No, I don't mind if you come.' Stiles sighs and roughly rubs his face before popping the door open and sliding the driver's seat forward. "Just get in," he commands.

Blake gives a breath of a laugh, moving past Stiles to crawl into the back of the Jeep. Derek's already slumped over in the passenger's seat, his hand wrapped tightly around the crook of his elbow. Stiles climbs in after moving the seat to its original position and starts the Jeep, then backing out of the parking spot and speeding out of the lot. Blake doesn't know where they're headed, but she isn't sure how much longer Derek's going to last. If he falls unconscious, Stiles won't be able to move him.

Blake stretches across the backseat and pulls her socks out of her boots, where she stuffed them after returning from the laundromat earlier. She pulls her socks on and jams her feet into her boots, quickly and nimbly lacing them. When she finishes, she lies across the seat and makes herself comfortable. Once she's satisfied, she subtly tilts her head to get the best view of Derek, who seems to be in too much pain to really notice much of his surroundings. She still doesn't know why he's in Beacon Hills. She'd almost think he was following her, but he was already roaming the forest when she got there and, upon further inspection, his scent was older in a couple places. He arrived at least a couple days before she did. And besides, she was on foot for a portion of the journey, it would be incredibly tedious to follow her in a car during that time.

The Jeep pulls into the parking lot of a veterinary clinic, causing Blake to cock an eyebrow. Are they just turning around? Did Stiles take a wrong turn? She leans forward and glances through the seats to get a peak of Stiles's face, but he stares straight ahead as he easily guides the Jeep into a parking spot and throws it into park. She wonders if he's just stopping to get his bearings back or make a phone call, but instead he kills the engine and pulls the keys from the ignition, putting that thought to rest.

"A veterinary clinic?" Blake mutters to herself as Stiles opens his door and slides out.

"Ironic, right?" Stiles snorts as he reaches around to pull a latch and scoot the seat forward to let Blake out. "Scott works here. He says there's a spare key around back," he explains shortly before disappearing around the corner of the clinic. She assumes he's going to open the door.

Blake hums thoughtfully as she crawls out of the backseat. She has no idea who Scott is, or really what's going on at all. All she knows is that Derek has an infection caused by a wolfsbane bullet and that he's going to die soon if they don't get another wolfsbane bullet. He hasn't been the most pleasant person for Blake to deal with, but he saved her life and helped her cope with her first full moon back in New York. That counts for something. Now she's going to try and return the favor.

Blake makes her way around the blue Jeep and wrenches the passenger door open, where Derek's still sitting. "Come on," she says, sliding her fingers under his uninjured bicep and tugging on it to get him moving.

Blake offers a hand to Derek to help him out of the vehicle, but he just grunts at her and throws his legs out of the Jeep, the rest of his body following. Blake rolls her eyes at him, but follows closely behind him to make sure he doesn't collapse as he trails around the back of the building. Stiles is already there, kneeling to unlock the metal shutter. Once that's done, he lifts it up and flips a light switch, revealing what seems to be the supply room of the veterinary clinic with bags of cat and dog food stacked neatly along the wall. Just as the shutter slides open, a cacophony of dog barks sound from one of the rooms, causing Blake's head to snap up. Of course she knew there would be dogs here, but she didn't take into account the fact that they'd make noise. Frowning, she wraps her arms around herself in an empty gesture of comfort, sick with worry for her canine companion. She still has no idea whether he's okay or not.

Derek slowly makes his way over to the stacked feed bags and drops heavily onto them, groaning in exhaustion. A harsh buzzing comes from Stiles's pocket, causing Derek's eyes to cut over to him. The pale boy flounders a bit before pulling his phone from his pocket and reading the message. "Uh, does Nordic blue Monkshood mean anything to you?" he asks hesitantly.

Blake, who had not been paying any attention to the pair, slowly opens the door leading to the main part of the clinic. The dogs haven't calmed any, still barking and rattling their cages. She follows her ears through the glaring white hallway to the source of the noise. Pausing in front of the door, she peeks inside, her heart tightening in her chest with a powerful pulse of longing. Maybe Wess is in there. Maybe Kate got rid of him as soon as she got to Beacon Hills and someone found him and dropped him off here. Maybe he's in there waiting for her.

Blake turns the cold door handle and slowly pushes the door open, the barking becomes louder and more frantic as she steps into the room lined with stainless steel cages. She ignores the smaller cages and heads immediately to the back, where the larger cages are. She peeks in each cage one by one, first coming to face with a drooling English Mastiff that gives one loud powerful bark. In the next cage is a bouncing Boxer that whines playfully at her, in the next is a fluffy Samoyed that seems to raise its nonexistent eyebrows, but otherwise ignores her. In the last cage is a German Shepherd… that's a couple years too old and shades too light to be Wess. Blake's shoulders slump in disappointment. She somehow expected him to be here. It was a long shot, but she had wanted so badly to find him here in one of these cages.

Swallowing her disappointment, Blake quietly exits the room and heads to where Stiles and Derek have moved. She can hear the talking even from the other side of the building. "Where'd she go?" Derek grumbles, accompanied by the snap of a drawer closing.

"How should I know?" Stiles shoots back, "Human here! I don't have that freaky werewolf hearing!"

"Blake!" Derek growls, he's resentful of having to call her, yet he knows that she can hear him.

"Coming, coming," Blake drawls, making her footsteps a smidgeon louder to be heard over the barking dogs. She wonders what he wants from her, he usually refuses to use her name. He must really be desperate. Now that she thinks about it, that's probably the first time he's used her name. She was under the impression that he forgot it.

"What? Why are you calling her? She's not gonna hear you!" Stiles says loudly, that sharp edge of panic apparent in his voice. Derek must be doing worse than before.

"Because one of you is going to cut off my arm," Derek replies bluntly. Blake cocks an eyebrow, picking up the pace slightly. What's he talking about? "And if she doesn't get here within the next few seconds, it'll be you!" he snaps, breathing heavily.

The buzz of some sort of saw comes from the room they're in, followed closely by the clatter of something being dropped. "Oh my god. I don't—I don't think I can do this," Stiles's strained voice says. He sounds like he's on the verge of vomiting and passing out. "Blake!" he yells, flinging the door open and allowing Blake to see him. "Blake?!"

An inappropriate bubble of laughter rises in Blake's throat at the panicked expression on his face, but she clamps it down. "I'm coming!" she says, jogging into the room. It's made of red brick with stainless steel counters. A shirtless Derek is leaning on the medical table in the middle of the room, a battery-powered hand saw lying next to him. In the crook of his elbow is a quarter sized gunshot wound with streams of blood trickling from it. The veins surrounding the area are thick with black branches of infection.

Blake hears the sickly gurgle Derek's body gives seconds before he leans over and vomits thick black blood that splatters onto the stained concrete floor. But Stiles didn't have the same warning, and he gives a surprised yelp, "Holy God," he whines, rubbing a hand down his face, "what the hell is that?" he asks, overwhelmed.

Blake's nose curls in sympathy at the powerful scent of infection. She's been in that boat before. Derek wipes the black residue from his mouth with the back of his hand, "My body," he pants, "it's trying to heal itself."

"Well, it's not doing a very good job," Stiles mutters hysterically.

Derek's eyes cut over to Blake, "Now," he demands, breathing hard. "You gotta do it now."

"You—You can't make her do that!" Stiles yelps, ruffling his short hair. "She doesn't even know what's going on!"

"It's fine," Blake says shortly, moving to Derek's side. "I heard." Without asking for permission or giving any sort of hint of what she's going to do, she reaches for Derek's belt and quickly unbuckles it.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks through panting breaths at the same time Stiles begins to babble, "Heard?! How could you hear that?! You were all the way over there!" he shouts, pointing vaguely. Once he realizes what she's done with Derek's belt, he slaps a hand over his eyes, "That's an extremely inappropriate thing to be doing right now, don't you think?!"

Blake rolls her eyes at their reactions and jerks the thick leather belt out of Derek's belt-loops. "He's going to need it," she says simply, folding it in half. Seeing as his arm already has a tourniquet tied around it, she urges Derek to rest his upper body on the medical table. He complies, though not entirely willingly seeing as Blake shoved a little harder than necessary. Once he does, she holds the folded belt near his mouth, "Open up," she commands. He glares rebelliously up at her with his bloodshot eyes, clearly not intending to obey. Blake glares back stubbornly, "I'm fixing to cut your arm off," she says calmly, "you're going to want something to bite."

Derek reluctantly opens his mouth and allows Blake to situate the folded leather between his teeth. Blake turns her attention on Stiles, "Will you come hold his other arm down?"

Stiles blanches, "Can't I—Can't I just, you know… wait outside?" he squeaks, jerking a thumb at the door as the blood drains out of his already pale face.

"No," Blake denies, picking up the saw and testing its weight in her hand. "I don't know how he's going to react, so I need you to try and hold him down," she explains, pulling the trigger on the saw. It buzzes to life, the internal motor whirring as the blade begins to vibrate. "I've never amputated a werewolf's arm before."

"What?!" Stiles yelps, reluctantly coming to hold down Derek's uninjured arm. "Does that mean you've amputated a human's arm before?!"

Blake ignores him and brings the buzzing saw closer to Derek's flesh, trying to decide where to cut. She needs to cut as close the infection as possible, but the infection has already wriggled its way up to the tourniquet and if she cuts too close to the tourniquet, that could render it useless and cause him to bleed out. But if she doesn't get all of the infection cut out, it could kill him anyway, chopped off arm or not.

But if she waits any longer, it won't matter because he'll be dead.

Using her empty hand, Blake pins his elbow to the table, his skin hot and sticky under her fingers, with her other hand she holds down the trigger on the saw and lowers it to bite into his flesh. The saw cuts through the first layer of skin without much resistance, flecks of blood spraying from the point of contact. Derek growls in pain, the leather belt squeaking between his gritted teeth. The buzzing saw begins to chew through the muscle, though not as easily as it had the skin. Blake starts to apply more pressure to the saw to get it through the muscle, her attention focused so intensely that she doesn't notice the person come up through the doorway behind her.

"What are you doing?!" a hand clamps onto Blake's shoulder, causing her to jump and yank the saw away from Derek's arm as she's forcefully whirled around by the crushing grip on her shoulder. The saw bites into her wrist, hitting bone immediately and beginning gnaw into the joint. Blake yelps and releases the trigger, leaving the bloody saw imbedded in her wrist. The person had swung her around with such force that the saw made it about a third of the way through her wrist, which is now pouring blood. She had moved the hand holding the saw, but left the other one on Derek's elbow, so that when she was forcefully turned around, the saw moved, but the other hand didn't, causing the saw to hit her wrist. Blake whimpers in pain and slowly slides the saw blade out of her wrist, aided by the slippery blood coating the blade. Once it's removed she drops it on the table and wraps her fingers around the wound.

"Scott!" Stiles yelps, staring at Blake's wrist in horror.

"I didn't—" the teen who had grabbed her shoulder yelps, staring at Blake's wrist with huge eyes, "I didn't mean to—I didn't know! I'm sorry!"

"It's fine!" Blake barks, sounding much harsher than she meant to, but she just wants him to stop looking so panicked. Blood slides from between her fingers at an alarming rate, one of the main veins must've been hit, but she can feel it straining to heal already and slowing the flow of blood.

"Do you have it?" Derek asks through gritted teeth. Scott nods quickly and yanks a bullet out of his pocket, passing it over to Derek. Derek stands up straight, swaying dangerously as he holds the large bronze bullet in front of his eyes.

"What are you going to do with it?" Stiles asks curiously, still looking rather sick, but relieved.

"I'm gonna," Derek breathes, blinking hard and trying to force his eyes to focus, "I'm gonna…" his hand falls and thumps onto the table, jarring the bullet out of his fingers. The bullet clinks off the table and rolls into a drain under a cart loaded with medical supplies. Derek sways like a palm tree in a hurricane before crashing to the ground and landing flat on his back, out cold.

"No!" Scott yelps, diving for the drain.

Blake kneels next to Derek and shakes him roughly with her good hand, leaving a bloody handprint on his shoulder. Stiles falls to his knees on the other side of Derek. "Derek?" he asks, lightly slapping Derek's face several times. "Derek, come on! Wake up!" When that yields no reaction from the downed werewolf, he turns to Scott. "Scott, what are we going to do?!"

"I don't know!" Scott grunts, still trying to fish the bullet out of the drain.

Stiles snaps his head up to look at Blake, "Oh my god," he breathes. "Is he dead?! He's not breathing! I think he's dead!" he yells, staring at Blake with his huge brown eyes.

"It's okay!" Blake says quickly, surprised by Stiles's intensity. "He's still breathing!" she reassures hastily, shaking Derek's shoulder harder than before.

"Just hold on!" Scott yells, breathing hard as he strains to reach the bullet. He goes still for a moment, concentrating intensely before slowly pulling his arm back, shiny bronze bullet held between his claws. "I got it!"

"Please don't kill me for this," Stiles begs, casting Blake a quick look before drawing his arm back and punching Derek in the face. "OW! God!" Stiles yells, cradling his hand close to his chest. Derek gasps, his eyes flying open as he looks around blearily, confused as to what's happening. Blake hears him inhale through his nose, before his eyes dart over to her, narrowing into an emotion that looks a lot like concern.

"Give me…" Derek mutters as Scott comes over and hauls him to his feet. He takes the bullet from Scott and rips it open with his teeth, tapping the bullet on the metal table to empty all the contents. Once that's done, he sweeps the dried wolfsbane into a small mound, grabs a lighter out of his pocket, and lights the small hill of wolfsbane on fire. It sparks wildly for a short moment, reminding Blake of a sparkler on the fourth of July. When the sparks die down, a thin blue smoke wafts lazily from the ashes.

Derek brushes the ashes off the table and into his hand, holding the smoldering ashes in his palm for a couple hesitant seconds. Finally he takes his hand and flattens it against the gunshot wound, grinding the ashes into it. He grunts in pain, curling in on himself while grasping at his arm. Blake cringes in sympathy, remembering what it felt like to wake up to that sort of blinding pain. The grunts escalate to a full-bodied scream as he falls to the ground, writhing in agony. After a couple moments, his scream picks up a growling animalistic undertone, the wolf mixing with the human in him. Scott and Stiles watch in horror, Scott grasping at Stiles's shoulder, their eyes as big as saucers.

One the infection finally retreats and leaves Derek's skin unblemished once again, Stiles pumps a fist into the air excitedly, "That was awesome!" he yells. Blake finds it slightly ironic, considering how scared he was a couple minutes prior.

"Are you… okay?" Scott asks hesitantly, helping Derek to his feet.

Derek scoffs, "Except for the agonizing pain?" he asks sardonically, narrowing his eyes at Scott as he brushes the dust off of himself.

Scott shrugs off Derek's sarcastic reply and turns to Blake, his eyes heavy with guilt. "I really didn't mean for that to happen," he mutters, referring the saw accident earlier, "Are you alright?"

Blake shifts uneasily, unsure of how to reply. "Uh… yeah," she says at last. "I'm, uh, fine…" she says awkwardly, grabbing at her wrist. The wound itself has stopped bleeding, but the bone is still in powdery fragments and the veins are still severed. She takes a deep breath and flexes her uninjured hand, flecks of dried blood crumbling as she does. "I'm fine," she says again, her heartbeat picking up. How did she get caught in this mess? Why's she here trying to help Derek of all people? All she needs to be doing is finding Wess, not getting involved in something that has nothing to do with her.

Scott's eyebrows wrinkle in confusion, most likely wondering why her heartbeat's speeding up. But Blake doesn't notice, she's too caught up in her thoughts. So when Scott addresses Derek, she completely misses it. She's not even sure why she's here. Of course, she asked to come with them, but why? Why did she care about what happened to Derek? Why did she want to help him?

Derek scoffs, shaking his head slightly, "I can show you exactly how nice they are."

Blake's eyebrows furrow in confusion. What's he talking about?

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A/N: So I hope you enjoyed! Leave me some love in the reviews, it makes me giggle like a schoolgirl. I love you all so much! Thanks for reading!


	12. The Visit

A/N: What's up, my people?! I am happy to present you with your chapter for this week. Though it's a liiiittle shorter than average, I'll think you'll forgive me. It's got some nice Derek moments in it. Hope I kept him in character! Y'all enjoy this chapter now, ya hear?

Guest: Aw, thank you so much! Hopefully you'll like their interactions in this chapter, they're a little different from the previous chapters. :)

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Blake sits stiffly in the front seat of Derek's Camaro. After the scene at the veterinary clinic, Stiles dropped the three of them, Blake, Derek, and Scott, off at Derek's Camaro and promptly took off in his Jeep, leaving Blake stranded with no way to get to her motel other than Derek. So now she's sitting unhappily in his front seat while Scott sits in the back. She isn't sure which of them is more uncomfortable with the situation. But she has a couple questions for Scott.

"Why were you at the Argents?" Blake asks, twisting around in her seat to look at Scott.

Scott blinks hard before staring at her in dumbfounded silence, unsure of how to answer her. "I was looking for the bullet to help Derek," he says uncertainly.

"Was Kate there?" Blake asks, her ears picking up the subtle shift in Derek's heartbeat at her name. It makes her remember the fact that still doesn't know why Derek wants to kill Kate. She doesn't know much about him at all, now that she thinks about it.

"Uh, yeah," Scott says awkwardly, "she was there. Why? Do you… know her?"

"Did she have a dog with her?" Blake asks hopefully, ignoring the question Scott asked. Maybe Kate still has Wess. Maybe he's okay.

"Um, I smelled one somewhere in the house, but I didn't see or hear it…" he says, giving her an odd look. He probably thinks she's a lunatic to be so concerned over something that seems so meaningless. But she doesn't care. She just needs to find out where Wess is being kept. "I think Allison's mom is allergic or something," he mutters.

Blake frowns, "Who's Allison?" she asks. Kate is staying in the Argents' house and that's where Scott was, so why is he talking about an Allison?

"She's, uh, Kate's niece," Scott mumbles, his heartbeat shooting into overdrive. Blake's eyebrows furrow as she tries to figure out why he's so flustered all of a sudden.

"So Chris has a daughter?" she mutters to herself, trying to process the information. She can't imagine the stern-faced hunter tucking a little girl in at night or reading bedtime stories. The only side of him that she's seen is hard as nails and determined as hell. If she's Chris's daughter, it only makes sense that Victoria, Chris's wife, is her mother. Blake suppresses a shiver at the idea, imagining a little girl with unnerving frosty blue eyes that stare right through you.

"Uh, yeah," Scott says, "she's my age." Well, that certainly changes Blake's perception a little bit, not to mention it clears up the reason Scott was so flustered. Someone's got a crush. "Why do you want to know all of this anyway?" Scott asks suspiciously, his heartbeat picking up its tempo.

"Kate has my dog, I'm trying to get him back," Blake explains shortly. It wouldn't do anyone any good to get into the nitty-gritty details of what happened.

"Oh," Scott says lamely. There's a short pause. "Were you the werewolf I saw on the full moon?"

Blake nods, "You mean the one that you attacked?" she asks lightly. "Yeah, that was me."

"Sorry," Scott mutters quietly, making Blake laugh softly. She hadn't meant for him to apologize. After that, the conversation dies off and isn't revived again. The three werewolves sit quietly in the car, driving to a destination only Derek knows. The sullen man had been rather tight-lipped about it, choosing to keep Blake and Scott in the dark for as long as possible in typical Derek fashion. Not that Blake really cared, it was between Derek and Scott for the most part, she was just along for the ride back to her motel room.

Derek pulls into the parking lot of Beacons Crossing Hospital, making Blake glance at him oddly. What are they doing here? Why is she _always_ out of the loop with him? It's like he sees it fit just to jerk her around wherever he wants, never telling her anything. Without saying a word, Derek pops the door open and steps out, his shoes crunching onto the asphalt. He sends a sharp, expectant look to Scott, who's sitting behind Blake's seat, and strides towards the hospital entrance. Blake rolls her eyes and pulls the handle on the door, pushing it open. The Camaro only has two doors, Scott can't get out without one of the seats being scooted forward. But, of course, that didn't matter to Derek. She slides the seat forward and allows Scott out of the back, holding out a hand to help him keep his balance as he steps out of the car.

"Thanks," he says quickly, jogging to catch up with Derek. "What are we doing here?" he asks Derek, demanding answers that he probably won't get. At least, he won't get them immediately.

Blake watches them approach the door for a short moment before realizing she's about to be left alone at the car. "Hey!" she barks, causing Scott to pause, though Derek barely even turns his head. "I don't want to just sit in the car and wait!" she yells, a twinge offended at being left so easily.

"Then come inside," Derek replies tonelessly, stepping onto the mat in front of the entrance and causing the electric doors to slide open with a grating buzz.

Blake pushes the car door shut, "That's so generous of you," she replies sardonically, jogging up to where Scott has paused to wait for her. Derek, upon realizing that there are now _two_ people he's about to leave in the dust, reluctantly stopped in the waiting room for the two to catch up.

"He's not answering me," Scott says, not even bothering to gesture to the stiff-shouldered werewolf walking briskly down the hall because it's obvious to both of them who he's talking about. "Do you know what we're doing here?" he asks, turning his eyes hopefully on Blake, who he seems to have branded as less of a threat than Derek at the moment.

Blake shrugs, giving Scott a sympathetic half-smile. "Sorry, but I have no idea. He doesn't really like me that much," she says, giving a sheepish laugh. Derek cranes his neck to give her a sharp unappreciative look, but otherwise doesn't bother with a spoken reply. Scott looks at her questioningly, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion as he silently asks why Derek isn't fond of her. Blake smiles and shakes her head, giving a non-verbal reply of, "maybe later."

After a couple tense minutes, where Derek continued to withhold all the information and Scott and Blake finally gave up trying to figure out why they're at a hospital of all places, Derek stops briefly in front of a dark hospital room on the resident floor. He seems to hesitate for a second, but covers it by glancing at Blake and Scott, who had been lagging behind. Once they get closer, he turns the handle and steps into the darkened room, leaving the other two werewolves to follow behind.

Sitting in a wheelchair off to the side is a middle-aged man, staring blankly at the wall. Derek makes his way over to stand at the man's side, Scott following closely, while Blake pauses in the doorway, the sterile scent of antibiotics and heavy chemical cleaners making her nervous. The man in the wheelchair hasn't moved to acknowledge their presence in the slightest. She can identify his scent, but it's… stale. It doesn't make any sense, why would his scent be stale in a room he appeared to be living in? There's something wrong with him. He has to be sick in some way, but he smells normal as far as she can tell. Blake's eyebrows furrow as she watches the man wearily, still searching her brain for answers to her questions.

Scott turns to Derek after he's finished inspecting the man in the wheelchair, who still hasn't reacted to their presence. "Who is he?" he whispers to try not to disturb the man, still unsure of what they're doing in this place.

"My uncle," Derek answers softly, "Peter Hale."

"Is he…" Scott pauses uncertainly, searching for the right words to phrase his question, "like you, a werewolf?"

Derek meets Scott's eyes, giving a small nod, "He was," he agrees. After a short moment, he continues quietly, so as to not break the tenuous peace of the room, "Now he's barely even human."

Blake swallows thickly, suddenly regretting the decision to come into the hospital. She wonders, not for the first time, how and _why _she's involved in this mess. A little over a month ago she was on the road with Wess, hunting werewolves. But with the thought of hunting werewolves unfailingly comes the accompanying guilt. How many werewolves did she kill without cause? How many of them actually deserved to die?

She doesn't even know any more. Was she ever doing the right thing? How many times did she have the full story? Was she just following her parents' footsteps blindly?

Blake snaps out of her thoughts when Derek's voice interrupts the stillness of the room once more, "Six years ago our house caught on fire while my sister and I were at school." Blake can hear the leather of his jacket crinkle slightly as his fingers clench into fists. "Eleven people were trapped inside," his voice stays relatively flat, but Blake's heart clenches painfully in her chest at his words. "He was the only survivor."

"So… what makes you so sure they set the fire?" Scott asks. Blake grits her teeth as she abruptly realizes the whole thing is about the Argents. That's what Derek and Scott were talking about in the clinic. Derek is showing Scott exactly what hunters have done to him and his family. Suddenly nauseous with guilt, Blake covers her mouth with her hand and silently backs out of the room.

"'Cause they're the only ones that knew about us," Derek replies. Blake covers her ears with her hands and snaps her eyes shut, trying, without success, to block out their words.

"Then… they had a reason," Scott insists, oblivious to exactly how calloused that statement is.

"Like what?" Derek demands quietly. "You tell me what justifies this," he says sharply, accompanied by the shrill squeak of rubber wheels against tile. "They say they'll only kill an adult, and only with absolute proof!" Derek snaps. Blake gives a harsh breath at his words, shocked by how familiar they are. She doesn't have time to brace for his next words, "But there were people in that fire that were perfectly ordinary."

Unable to take it anymore, Blake stumbles in the opposite direction, fleeing deeper into the belly of the hospital. She breaks into a run to avoid hearing the rest of the conversation, but can't help hearing everything anyway. "This is what they do," Derek says sharply. "This is what Allison _will_ do."

Derek's words echo through her head like a vicious mantra, buzzing and crackling like a distorted radio reception. "_This is what they do,_" the words damn her, condemn her, accuse her. They're a life-sentence. She's a hunter. It's what she does. It's all she knows. She can never change that. She can't take back those words. She can't take back the bullets. She can't give back the lives she's taken. She's a killer. She's the type of person to set a house on fire, burning eleven people to death.

It's what she does. It's who she is.

How do you get rid of the very thing that taints your blood?

For the first time she doesn't mean the lycanthropy, she means her hunting heritage.

Two sets of footsteps snap Blake out of her vicious daze, only for her to find herself on her knees in the middle of a hallway she doesn't recognize. Swallowing, Blake glances behind her only to find Scott and Derek quickly approaching. Too absorbed with guilt and self-loathing, Blake doesn't bother to move until they come to stand in front of her. Scott keeps giving her confused, kicked puppy looks that make her want to smile and cry at the same time. He doesn't understand what's going on, but he knows it's something that doesn't quite involve him.

"My, uh, my mom's on shift right now," he says awkwardly, jerking his thumb in a vague direction. "I can… get a ride from her?" he says unsurely, glancing between Blake and Derek.

"You should do that," Derek agrees, staring down at Blake. Scott nods hastily and heads in the direction he pointed, taking a curious glance back at Blake every couple of steps. Blake watches him the entire time, doing everything she can to avoid meeting Derek's eyes.

"You should stop crying," Derek says softly, kneeling so that their eyes are level.

Blake's eyes drop to the ground shamefully, her hand reaching up to swipe away tears she hadn't known were there. "I didn't know I was," she answers honestly.

"You didn't have anything to do with what happened to my family," Derek says, his tone the softest she's ever heard it. Does he pity her even after all she's done?

"No, I didn't," Blake agrees, breathing slowly. Her eyelashes flutter and more tears trail down her face.

"But you're still crying," Derek points out, though much less harsh than she would've expected.

"Because…" Blake stops, her teeth feeling like they're cementing together. Somehow she pulls them apart to spit out the words festering in her mouth. "Because it's who I am. I'm a hunter." And at this moment, the words are more damning than anything she's ever said.

Derek stands abruptly, causing Blake to close her eyes. He's leaving now. He has to be. Who in their right mind would stay with her? "Not anymore," he says. Blake's eyes slide open and she's somehow surprised to see that Derek hasn't left, that he's not staring at her hatefully like she expected. Instead, he slowly reaches out a hand to her, intending to help pull her to her feet.

Blake blinks hard, staring at his hand in unabashed surprise. Too shocked to reply, she swallows thickly and slides her eyes up to his face, tears gathering on her lashes once more. Derek looks away, his heartbeat giving an odd lurch. "You said you stopped hunting," he points out, "didn't you?"

Blake shakes her head softly, "I've realized that you never stop being a hunter…" she swallows, hoping to wash the words away, but they stick to her mouth like a foul taste. "Just because a soldier's no longer on the battlefield, do they stop being a soldier?"

"No, they don't," Derek says, making Blake bite her lip. "But you stopped being a hunter when you made the choice to stop being a hunter. You aren't a soldier, you're a werewolf," at these words, Blake's head snaps up to meet his heavy, though not unkind, gaze, "and wolves stick together."

Blake nods numbly, sliding her hand into his and allowing him to help her to her feet. "You're right," she breathes, licking her lips, salt from her tears gathering on her tongue. Maybe it is that easy, maybe she can just let it all go. It's not going to be instantaneous; it's going to be drawn-out and painful. But maybe she could move beyond her past as a hunter. "You're right," she agrees again, her voice becoming stronger. But then again, she's not going to live for that much longer. Starla's name is printed on Blake's life like a red-inked timestamp. What good is guilt doing her now?

Derek gives Blake what appears to be the shadow of a smile and quietly leads her out down the hall. They don't yet notice that their hands are still clasped.

* * *

A/N: Even though it was a smidge short, I hope it's enough to hold you over until the next chapter. ;) At first glance, you might find some of Derek's actions weird, but you have to consider we haven't seen him interacting with very many females in the show. At least not any normal ones. We've seen him with Kate, but that situation is... well, very unique. We've seen him with Allison and Lydia, but only briefly and those situations were, well, also unique. With Erica he was her alpha, and I'm sure that changes the dynamic a bit. Cora is his sister, so that's not reliable to gauge how he'd react around other women. With Jennifer, she was immediately a love interest and that changed their interactions immensely. So really, we haven't actually seen him NORMALLY interacting with a woman. Right here with Blake, he's starting to see and understand her more. He doesn't yet see her in a romantic way, but he doesn't see her as a threat. In fact, he's starting to realize that she could actually HELP him with the alpha, and that's something he needs.

Oops. Sorry for the rant! I just wanted to clear somethings up and show some of the thoughts I put into their actions this chapter. If you feel differently, I'd love to hear your thoughts! As always, I hope you enjoyed. If there was anything that stuck out to you, a line or action or anything that was said, I'd be interested to know. Seriously! Just quote your favorite bit of the chapter and explain a little why it's your favorite. It can even be something you didn't like. I just want your opinions! It gives me a better idea of what you like and what you don't like. :)


	13. The Hunt

A/N: What's up, my people? I have returned to bestow upon you an update. Haha, I'm soooo generous. Just a reminder, updates might be slowing down because I'm running out of pre-written chapters. Sucks, I know. But you have enjoyed steady updates for a while, this shouldn't kill you. ;) I'll do my best to keep up a semi-constant update schedule. Because I kinda like y'all and stuff. So yeah. Expect that. Sorry.

Guest: I'm glad you liked the ending! Aw, thank you! We'll be seeing a different side of their dynamics in the next couple chapters. I hope you like it. :)

* * *

Blake laces her boots slowly, her fingers working mechanically, her mind on auto-pilot. After returning home from the rather eventful night, nearly cutting Derek's arm off and then getting dragged to the hospital where Derek showed Scott what hunters did to his family and then have some kind of mental breakdown in the hallway, she showered and then slept like the dead. Now it's morning and she fully intends on going to all of the vets, kennels, pounds, pet stores, and anywhere else Kate might think to stash Wess in Beacon Hills. If she reports him as stolen, it shouldn't be hard to get him back. He does have a microchip, so it should be easy to prove he belongs to her.

Blake sighs and runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it into a ragged ponytail. She's not looking forward to searching and it's only because she isn't sure how she's going to deal with the disappointment of not finding anything. She's emotionally drained from last night and she just… isn't sure how much more she can take.

Shouldering her backpack, Blake strides out of her motel room. A single piece of paper is clutched in her fingers, scrawled on it is all of the addresses she could find that seemed like they had any chance of holding Wess. Beacon Hills isn't that big, but there are still a ton of places to check. Though, she did count out the veterinary clinic Stiles drove her to last night, the one where she almost sawed Derek's arm off.

Checking her paper once more, Blake sees that the closest one seems to be only about a mile away from her motel. If she has to walk to every place she visits, it's going to be a long day. She better get started.

It takes Blake about 15 minutes to walk to the first stop of the day, a tiny veterinary clinic in the middle of a large shopping center. She pushes the glass door open, a string of bells hanging above the door jingling merrily to announce her presence. "Hello," she greets the woman sitting behind the counter.

The woman pauses what she was doing—which was filing some papers in a cabinet—and spins her chair around to face Blake. "What can I do for you?" she asks, eying Blake carefully.

"I'm here to look for my dog," Blake explains, "one of my acquaintances got upset with me and stole him. I'm just checking around the area to try and find him." She pauses, waiting to see if the woman behind the desk has anything useful to say. "Um, he's a German Shepherd and his name is Wess. He has a microchip and he's up to date with all his shots. He's very well trained, but he got into an accident about a month ago so he may have scarring on his shoulder." When the woman continues to stare blankly at Blake, she nearly growls in frustration. "He means a lot to me," she says slowly, irritated with the woman's lack of reaction. "So if you could check to see if he's here, I would really appreciate it," she says, stressing certain words to try and get her point across.

"He's not here," the woman says, spinning back around and picking up the papers she had abandoned when Blake walked in.

"What?" Blake blinks, "You didn't even look!" she accuses sharply, pointing at the woman.

"I didn't have to," the woman says primly, her chair giving a shrill squawk as she turns to face Blake once more. "I know that there's not a German Shepherd here, _ma'am_," she says coldly, using the formality with the same tone she would spit out atrocities.

"Would you please check for me anyway, _sir?_" Blake hisses, leaning across the counter to stare the woman in the eyes. "It'd really make my day," she says slowly, giving the woman a tight-lipped smile.

The woman gapes openly, going red in the face as she stares hatefully at Blake, most likely a side-effect of being called 'sir.' After a moment, her teeth clench together rigidly. "Of course," she seethes, standing up. "I'll do that right now," she says through her gritted teeth.

"You wouldn't mind if I came with you, right?" Blake asks, smiling victoriously. "After all, I can't be sure you know what a German Shepherd looks like."

The woman's heart begins beating so fast, Blake's almost sure that she's going to vault the counter and try to strangle Blake. "Right this way," she says aggressively, gesturing to a door behind the counter.

"Thanks," Blake grins, nearly skipping around the counter to follow the angry woman into the backroom, where all of the animals are kept.

* * *

Long story short, Wess wasn't there… or anywhere Blake looked. She only has one last place to look before she has to go back to her room and figure out what to do next. Scott said Wess wasn't at the Argent home and that Allison's mom is allergic, but Kate is staying there. Kate has to know where Wess is, or at least where she left him. Maybe she should've tried to find Kate first, instead of checking around the area. But Chris already knows that Blake's here in Beacon Hills, surely Kate knows as well. There's also the small problem with Blake not knowing where the Argent home is. She could ask Scott, but she doesn't know where he is or how to find him. She doesn't know how to find Stiles, either.

Who is she kidding? She doesn't know how to find anyone, not even Derek.

Sighing, Blake pushes open the door to the last clinic in town she hasn't checked. "Wait, Ollie! Don't!" A boy yelps as a fat orange tabby streaks across the room, heading straight for the open door. Blake's hand snaps out to capture the cat by the scruff, preventing it from escaping through the open door. It hisses and spits, wriggling in Blake's grip as it tries desperately to sink its claws into her.

"Thank you so much," the boy from earlier sighs, coming to tentatively remove the struggling cat from Blake's hold. "My boyfriend would've never forgiven me if this monster escaped," he says, giving Blake a dimpled grin.

Blake laughs, relieved to see a friendly face after the hellacious day she's endured. "No problem," she says softly, slowly reaching out to stroke the cat's forehead. It hisses at her and clings to the dimpled boy's shirt, trying to get away. "Guess it doesn't like me," she shrugs. It's probably because she's a werewolf. Animals have been reacting to her strangely all day.

"Don't feel too bad," the boy smiles, "Ollie doesn't like anyone."

Blake smiles and, seeing how there isn't anyone at the front desk, makes her way over to the waiting chairs. "What's your name?" she asks as she takes a seat.

"Danny," the boy says, coming to take a seat next to her. "What's yours?"

"Blake Matthews," she says, holding a hand out for Danny to shake. He gives her a bemused smile, resituating Ollie so he can shake Blake's hand firmly. "So what are you here for?" she asks, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs.

"Ollie needs a checkup," he says, glancing at the angry orange cat in his arms, "and his owner, my boyfriend, wasn't able to take him."

Blake nods, giving a hum of understanding. "I see. So were you volunteered or did you volunteer yourself?"

Danny laughs, "Kind of both, I think," he says uncertainly. "What are you here for?"

"I'm looking for my dog," Blake says softly. "He's, um, he's lost."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Danny says genuinely, giving Blake a small sad smile. "What does he look like? Will he come if he's called?"

"He's a German Shepherd, but he's mostly black with a little tan on his face, legs and chest. His name is Wess and he comes when I call him, but I don't know if it works with other people," Blake says, checking to see if there's anyone at the front desk yet. This place is so noisy it's hard for her to hear the smaller sounds. "I've been looking for him all day, but I haven't had much luck."

"I'm sorry," Danny says. "I hope you find him soon…" he trails off for a moment before turning to Blake again, "He's pretty big, right?" he asks uncertainly.

"Uh, yeah," Blake says, "He's about this tall," she says, holding her hand around two feet off the ground, "and he weighs about ninety pounds."

"Well, I saw something running around in the forest yesterday when I went jogging," Danny says, "I couldn't tell how big it was, but it might've been your dog."

"Where in the forest?" Blake asks. It'd make sense that Kate would dump him in the forest to fend for himself.

"Uh, not too far from here, the path I run is about two miles from here," Danny says, gesturing behind him, the direction that leads further out of Beacon Hills.

Blake stands up abruptly, startling Danny so much that he almost loses his grip on Ollie. "Thanks, I'm going to go check it out," she says quickly, striding towards the door.

"Uh, you're welcome?" Danny calls uncertainly, just as Blake throws open the door and jogs out.

The last clinic she visited is pretty far from her motel, putting it on the opposite side of town, close to the outskirts. Because of this, it doesn't take her long to find herself in the forest after going in the vague direction Danny pointed her. It's mostly because she jogged the whole way, angry with herself for not thinking to look in the forest before now. It's mostly quiet save for the birds and squirrels doing last minute foraging and the leaves whispering as the breeze trickles through them.

Cupping her hands around her mouth, Blake begins her search. "Wess!" she yells, hearing her voice reverberate through the trees. "Wess! Are ya in here, bud?!" she calls before pausing and listening intensely. Her yelling agitates a few animals and causes a little bit of a disturbance, but there are no sounds to indicate that Wess is around. It doesn't matter, she just has to keep looking.

"Ugh," Blake grumbles, stuffing her hands in her pockets. "When I find Kate I'm going to kick her teeth in." Nervously biting her lip, she picks up an easy jog deeper into the forest. Occasionally, she calls for Wess. She's always hoping he'll come bounding out of the foliage, happy to see her. But she knows that's an unlikely scenario. Even if he is somehow lost in the forest, he has still been taught to hate werewolves. She's still a werewolf. She remembers being bitten by him in the hotel back in New York, she remembers him growling at her… and it's not likely his mindset has changed. She did train him, after all.

"Wess!" she yells, forcibly pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind. She can worry about it once she finds him. But who says he's even in the forest? Maybe he's not even in Beacon Hills. Only Kate knows the answer. "Wess!" she calls, pausing to see if there's any sort of reply.

"Wess?" she yelps, whirling around in the direction of a branch snapping. A soft growl is her answer.

Blake backs up, her eyes locking onto a furred form in the distance. She clenches her fists, watching closely. That's not Wess. That's something a thousand times more dangerous. Hunched in the distance is a huge werewolf with glowing red eyes. Once its eyes connect with Blake's, it raises to its hind legs threateningly. Even from afar, she can tell it has two feet of height over her at the very least. It's a disgusting human-wolf hybrid, with a distortedly animalistic face and leathery grey-black skin with thick patches of rough fur sprouting along its back and arms. The legs are thick and vaguely human, with cords of muscle that lead into a foot more reminiscent of a wolf, especially with the way it seems to balance mostly on the pads of its toes. Cocking its head to the side, it stares in Blake's direction with frighteningly human red eyes. She stays very still and makes sure not to move suddenly or make any threatening gestures. Her fear begs her to shift, but she knows that would only be a surefire way to piss it off. After a tense moment, it bellows an unearthly roar and surges into a loping run, its brilliant red eyes locked onto her.

"Shit, shit, shit," Blake gasps, turning tail and sprinting in the other direction. Did she actually think not making threatening moves would help her? Why did no one tell her there was an alpha in town? She heads for a thicker copse of trees, hoping that the density will help her and hinder the alpha. She doesn't make it even halfway before the alpha's clawed hand rakes diagonally across her back, tearing four long gashes from shoulder to hip into the previously unbroken skin. Blake grunts as the blow sends her tumbling to the ground, her head bouncing off the soil. She blinks hard and gives a ragged breath, feeling as blood wells up from the wounds on her back. Bracing against the pain, she pushes herself to her hands and knees and starts to crawl. Her back feels like it's on fire, like someone put a lit match to her flesh and started a blaze. Blood's soaking into her clothes, spreading the warmth all across her back, dripping down her neck, her sides, and spilling onto the dirt.

A thick furry hand wraps around her ankle and jerks her back, causing her face to smack into the ground, rocks and twigs scratching tiny abrasions into her forehead and cheeks. She cringes and rolls onto her back, screaming out in agony as dirt and dead leaves embed into the ragged open wounds. She jerks her knee to her chest and kicks straight out with every ounce of strength she has, catching the alpha right in its elongated muzzle, which gives a sickening crunch under her boot. Growling harshly, it backs away with its thick fingers clutching at its hideous face.

Taking her chance, Blake pushes herself to her feet and bolts for the denser part of the forest, hoping that the alpha won't be able to fit through the smaller gaps. The alpha, upon noticing that its prey has gotten dangerously close to escaping, roars and takes off after her, its thundering footsteps pounding the ground like a drumbeat.

Blake steps into the trees just as the alpha's hand engulfs her wrist and gives a harsh yank. Before she can be jerked away completely, her other hand shoots out and wraps around a tree branch, desperate to pull herself away from the beast behind her. Its grip crushes her other wrist, the bones snapping like twigs beneath its clawed fingers. Blake screams, but refuses to let go of the branch and instead extends her claws to dig into the bark, clear sap oozing slowly from the gouges left by her claws.

Somehow she remembers it being much easier to kill alphas as a human.

The alpha, sick of her petty resistance, gives a harsh yank on her broken wrist, ripping Blake away from the tree. She stumbles and falls, catching herself with her unbroken arm. For an unknown reason, the alpha let go after pulling her away from the tree. Blake cradles her wrist to her chest and scoots away from the alpha, watching it with hatefully narrowed eyes. "What do you want?" she hisses, kicking futilely at the ground in an awkward attempt to get away. The alpha, tired of watching her struggle, raises one gigantic foot and brings it down on Blake's knee, crunching it beneath its weight. An inhuman screech falls from Blake's lips as her entire body radiates with pain, her good arm whips up to slice into the alpha's hairy leg, but before she can, it removes its foot. Her relief is short lived.

The alpha's hand wraps around her throat and hoists her off the ground, its massive fingers crushing her windpipe and intending to squeeze the life out of her. With the last remaining breath she has, she manages to spit out one more act of defiance, "Fuck… you." The alpha roars in her face, displaying its mouth full of jagged, bright white teeth as globs of spit land on her cheeks and its hot breath disturbs her hair.

It's going to kill her.

It's really going to kill her.

Blake's hand is a blur as it whips up and rakes across the alpha's face, opening gaping wounds across its cheek and nose, coming dangerously close to its eyes. The alpha drops her immediately and she hits the ground with a grunt, all of her wounds nearly blinding her with pain. She might as well have fallen from the top of the empire state building for how much she hurts. The alpha roars and Blake closes her eyes in preparation for it to end her life, but instead the roar breaks into a high whimpering whine. She somehow manages to open her eyes to watch as the alpha begins clawing wildly at its face, barking panicked cries as it causes more and more damage to itself. Finally, it falls to all fours and takes off, crashing into several trees in its blind dash, leaving Blake very confused and very much in pain.

What the hell just happened?

Blake moans, trying without success to find a way to situate herself without causing more pain. Slowly, she begins to tally up her injuries. There are several things wrong with her, including but not limited to, the huge lacerations on her back, her snapped wrist, her crushed kneecap, and the rather painful splinter in her finger from where she was ripped away from the tree.

Speaking of trees and being ripped away from them, Blake slowly lifts her hand up to inspect it, remembering the tree sap that was on her fingers. Coating her claws is a clear sap mixed with the blood of the alpha. Taking a cautious breath in to see if she can figure out what it is, she immediately yelps and jerks her hand away from her face. Her head pulses and warmth gathers behind her eyes, causing them to tear up. Laughing quietly, even though it makes everything hurt, she stops to marvel at her luck. She'd be dead if it wasn't for that tree. She stabbed an alpha in the face with poisonous tree sap. Giggling harder, she curls in on herself and flops onto her least injured side, feeling each and every one of her wounds pulse in synchronized agony.

A branch snaps and Blake tenses, though a couple giggles still manage to escape her lips. "Did you come back to finish the job?" she calls. "You can try," she pauses to chuckle, somewhat delirious with pain, "but between the broken limbs and gaping holes in my back, you'll have a rather hard time of it."

"Is sarcasm really your only defense against an alpha?" Derek's voice greets her, a pleasant surprise compared to the hell-beast she was expecting.

"That and tree sap," Blake says with a snort, wincing as some of her adrenaline begins to wear off and the real pain comes a-knocking.

"Tree sap, really?" Derek says drily, coming to stand next to her.

"Hey," Blake mumbles, closing her eyes and trying to block out the pain, "you can be skeptical all you want, but that shit just saved my life." It's quiet for a while as she tries to just focus on her breathing, instead of her knee, wrist, and back and how much they hurt. She hasn't had her werewolf super healing for long, but shouldn't the pain at least be lessening by now?

"Come on," Derek says at last. "You're going to bleed to death."

"Shouldn't my super werewolf healing take care of that?" Blake grumbles, rather upset that it hasn't started working yet. "I thought it was one of the perks."

"You got attacked by an alpha, you're going to take a lot longer than usual to heal," he explains, helping Blake sit up. She groans as her pain begins to let up and leans heavily into his touch, suddenly craving it like a dying man craves water.

"Whatever you're doing," she mumbles, reaching out to grasp his forearm, "don't stop."

Derek ignores her remark, "Here," he says, re-situating her grip on his arm, "can you stand up?"

Blake shakes her head, "I don't know," she says uneasily, "it stomped on my knee, I think something's broken," she stops and cringes, "I heard it crunch."

"Okay, but I need you to stand for a second, so stand on your uninjured leg," Derek says, wrapping his fingers around the bicep of her arm with the broken wrist. "Ready?" he asks, looking into her eyes for confirmation.

"Yeah," she breathes, bracing for the pain this action will undoubtedly bring. Derek gently begins to pull her to her feet while being mindful of her injuries, yet not letting her stop even as she whimpers through gritted teeth. "Okay," she pants, putting all of her weight on her uninjured knee, "what now?"

"I'm going to carry you," Derek says, making Blake flinch away from him.

"What?!" she yelps, completely uncomfortable with the idea, "No!"

"So you're going to walk?" Derek asks, cocking an eyebrow at her skeptically.

"No," Blake mumbles, wincing as the pain that had been held at bay comes rushing back. "I guess not."

"Then wrap your arm around my neck," he instructs as he steps closer to take her good wrist and lay it across his shoulders. He leans a little closer, crouching slightly to make it easier for her. "Now wrap your uninjured leg around my waist."

"No," Blake says, swallowing thickly. "I'll fall." If she falls, she'll land directly on her shredded back which will undoubtedly result in immense pain.

"I won't let you," Derek grumbles in exasperation, though his words are strangely comforting.

"I-I don't trust you," Blake insists, her heart speeding up. "I'm going to fall if I do."

"You won't," Derek says, softer than before. "I'm not going to let you fall."

Blake takes a deep, shuddering breath, scolding herself for being so scared. "Okay, okay," she says, trying to rein in her terror, but she's having more trouble with it than usual. "If… If you promise." After the words leave her mouth, she immediately cringes and drops her gaze to the ground. She shouldn't be so scared. It's childish and pathetic.

"I promise," Derek replies, his tone void of the exasperation or sarcasm she expected. Blake nods and licks her lips, breathing deeply to steel herself against the pain. She bends her good knee and kicks off the ground, using the arm around Derek's shoulder to help balance her and pull her up while she wraps her uninjured leg around him, his arm coming up to support her. She muffles a scream into his neck as her injured knee bends and hangs limply, the bones grinding against each other. Immediately, his other hand moves to hold her injured leg, lending it a more stable position and lessening the pain.

"That hurt," Blake pants as she tries to get her heart rate to slow. Now she has both arms wrapped around his neck, her broken wrist being supported by her other arm. One leg is wrapped around his hips, while the other is being held by his hand. Derek's other arm is under her, his forearm acting as a seat under her backside, to help hold the majority of her weight.

Basically, Blake's like a huge toddler right now.

"How," she says, her breathing still somewhat ragged, "did you find me anyway?" she asks and rests her forehead on his shoulder.

"I heard you screaming," Derek says simply, starting to walk. The motion is gentle, yet it still makes Blake cringe as her knee is jostled with nearly every stride. But he kept his promise. He didn't let her fall.

* * *

A/N: That's it for today, come back next week for more! I know for sure I have a chapter for next week, but that miiight be the last pre-written one. How sad. As always, I hope you enjoyed and if you enjoyed, drop me a line! Did you have a favorite part? Was there anything that stood out to you? Theories, thoughts conspiracies? I'd love to hear them. Anyway, you guys are awesome! Thanks for reading and thanks for all the alerts, favorites, and reviews, they really keep me going.


	14. The Mend

A/N: Hey peeps. Here's your chapter and, like I said earlier, I'm not sure if I have a chapter ready for next week. I might be able to whip one up, but we'll see how that goes. I'm not really feeling well. :(

Anyway, tons and tons of interaction and development in this chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Blake isn't sure where they're going, but she can't find it within herself to bother with asking, she's in too much pain and discomfort to really find it worth the effort. It's not like Derek would tell her anything anyway. So in the meantime, Blake focuses on the soft crunching footsteps Derek makes instead of the sickly way her foot swings back and forth beyond her control. She can't stop it because of her injured knee, she's not quite sure what's wrong with it, just that it's pretty messed up. Maybe it's broken. Can knees even break? She doesn't know, all she knows is that it hurts. Badly.

Blake rests her forehead on the junction of Derek's neck and shoulder, finding a simple comfort in his presence. She doesn't know him that very well, but he's reliable. He always seems to be there to help her, even if he doesn't especially want to. "Why were you close enough to hear me screaming?" she asks, suddenly curious as to why he was in the forest. Not that she's complaining.

"I'm staying a couple miles away from where you were attacked," he says. It's the most curious sensation, but Blake can feel the vibrations of him speaking. It kind of tickles.

A couple miles? He lives a couple miles away, but he showed up minutes after her first scream. Blake's cheeks catch on fire with an embarrassed flush, her heartbeat picking up as she realizes what that entails. To arrive so soon after her scream, he must've ran. She's embarrassed that she had to have someone come running after her. She's supposed to be the big bad werewolf, not little red riding hood. But the blush is mostly for the thought of Derek caring about what happens to her. It's not often that someone would come running after her, even knowing it would be dangerous.

Derek cocks an eyebrow, wondering why Blake's heart is beating so hard all of a sudden, but he doesn't question it out loud, which Blake is eternally grateful for. Instead, he steps up onto the first stair of a partly abandoned house, making a creak ring out. Blake picks her head up to look at the huge shell of a house, noticing all of the scorch marks marring the outside. "Is this where you're staying?" she asks carefully, not wanting to offend. Some part of her wants the answer to be no and he just didn't want to take her to where he's _actually _staying, but his scent is so apparent in this place that she already knows the answer is yes. But the thing is, if she's assuming correctly, this is the house his family was burned to death in.

Blake frowns, her eyes tracing guiltily along the scarred wood as she imagines the horror that must've happen here. Horror inflicted upon Derek by hunters. She releases a slow breath and puts her head on his shoulder once more, trying to focus on something other than the awful thoughts plaguing her.

"Yeah," Derek answers, nudging the door open with his foot. Blake nods in understanding, pursing her lips.

"How…" Blake starts to ask a question but she stops. "Never mind," she says, shaking her head. That question would've been too personal.

Derek doesn't ask any further, instead walking deeper into the house and into what seems to be the dusty remains of the dining room with ruined hardwood floors and matching table and chairs. He pulls out one of the chairs with his foot and, very careful of the gaping wounds on her back, gently begins to lower her onto it. She grits her teeth and takes a sharp breath, cringing at every little movement. But she can tell he's really trying make it easier on her, so she doesn't allow herself to vocalize her pain. He's thoughtful enough to make sure her back doesn't touch the chair's back by sitting her in it sideways, so she can at least be strong enough not to whimper while he places her in it.

After he sets her down, he walks out of the ruined dining room and into a different room, coming back shortly with a blue plastic bucket. Blake purses her lips when she catches sight of it, unsure of what its purpose is. If he notices her questioning looks, he ignores them. Her question is answered moments after he enters another room, the sound of running water surprising her.

When he returns once more, Blake cranes her neck to look at him, though she keeps she shoulders very still so she doesn't disturb her wounds more than necessary. The bucket's filled with water like she assumed, but she still isn't exactly sure of what it's going to be used for. "What's the water for?" she asks. She has an idea, but she'd rather know for sure before anything happens.

"It's to rinse the wounds," he replies, setting it down on the table. "They're caked with dirt and leaves."

Blake cringes, remembering the feeling of being forced to roll onto her freshly shredded back to try and get away from the alpha. It definitely wasn't one of her finer moments. "So… shirt off?" she asks, reaching for the hem of the article in question.

"You could try," Derek says nonchalantly, "but it'd probably take some of your skin with it since the blood dried."

"That's… great," Blake mumbles sarcastically, her unbroken hand coming up to massage her eyes. She hadn't taken into account that the blood would dry. "Okay," she says at last, finally giving up and handing the reins fully over to Derek. "Do… whatever you have to."

Derek doesn't reply, instead he picks the bucket up and pours a gentle trickle of water over Blake's back. Blake sucks in a sharp breath, not expecting the water to be so cold, and bites her knuckle. She can definitely feel the skin loosening after being released from the hold of the cloth glued into place by the dried blood, the matted dirt, and who knows what else. The dirty water drips steadily onto the floor, taking with it all the contagions that used to be caked onto her back. After her shirt is thoroughly saturated, Derek's fingers slide under the hem of her shirt, peeling it away from her back with a painful squelch. Blake's teeth break the skin of her knuckle and it takes everything she has not to scream in pain from the sickening sensation of pieces of her skin lifting away and rising with the shirt.

"You can take it off now," Derek says, holding the fabric a careful distance away from her back so that it doesn't get stuck once more. Blake swallows her pain and nods quickly, her good hand clumsily reaching for the hem of her shirt. Once she has it, she raises both hands over her head, Derek patiently helping her pull the disgusting, wet in some places yet stiff with filth in others, shirt over her head to be quickly tossed onto the ground.

"Did that…" Blake pauses to take a deep breath, fighting off light-headedness, "make it look better or worse?" she manages to ask with a small self-depreciating snort. She can't actually see it, so for all she knows she could be bleeding to death. Though it's unlikely, seeing as her healing still worked enough to stop the bleeding at least. It's certainly not doing much for her pain, though. Hey, at least she's in too much pain to care that the only thing preserving her modesty is her bra, which is dangling by the straps now on account of the band being shredded along with her back.

"I can see your ribs in some places now," Derek says, not sounding very impressed, though he doesn't sound very bothered either, "so I'm going to go with worse."

"That's great," Blake breathes, somewhat nauseous at the thought of her bones being bared to the world. "That's just great," she repeats, her voice a hoarse whisper as she feels her stomach churn uncomfortably. An overwhelming sense of light-headedness comes over her and she sways slightly in her chair, blinking hard to try and clear her vision. Derek's hands shoot out to grab her by the shoulders just as she slumps forward into unconsciousness.

* * *

Blake awakes to a tight aching pain that stiffens all her joints and makes her muscles feel like concrete. She forces her eyes open and pulls in a deep breath through her nose, greeted by the overwhelming scent of Derek and dust. She's lying on top of a sleeping bag with the hard floor underneath the thin layer of cushioning. The sleeping bag is situated in a room she's never been before and since she's lying on her stomach, it's not very easy to turn her head. The wall is all she can see. She blinks hard, the events leading up to this predicament coming back slowly, like chilled honey being poured from the bottle. Looking for Wess. Talking to Danny. Searching the forest. Spotting the alpha. Running. Screaming. Bleeding.

Derek.

That's right. He came to help her. He carried her back to… where he's staying, which may or may not be the house his family burned in. But why? He doesn't like her. He doesn't like her because she's a hunter. But she's not a hunter anymore… right? Well, not a working one anyway. Does that make her a broken hunter? Or maybe just a broken person.

Where'd those thoughts come from? Blake closes her eyes, trying to wave off the plague of bad thoughts the same way one would shoo a fly. Broken or not, there's one thing she can do and that's find Wess. She takes a deep stabilizing breath and concentrates on Derek's scent. That's right, he has to be around here somewhere. She brings her hands up to push herself into a sitting position, but hisses in pain as she puts even the slightest amount of weight on her wrist. Somehow she forgot it was broken without actually forgetting. She knew it was broken, but didn't think about not being able to use it. Now that she thinks about it, her pants leg is exceptionally tight at her knee, meaning that it probably swelled up like a balloon. That's just lovely.

"You're awake," Derek's voice interrupts her self-exploration, forcing her to turn her head. She almost winces at the colossal crick she anticipates, but somehow the movement is easy and relatively pain-free. Maybe werewolves don't get cricks. Derek's sitting leaned against the wall, his legs stretched out before him.

"Yeah," she croaks, before wincing and trying to clear her throat. There's just a tiny trickle of light being fed in through the window behind him, meaning it's close to sundown. She takes a moment to admire him in the dim light, tracing over her eyes his features appreciatively.

"I assumed your wrist would heal faster," Derek says, Blake watches his lips move the whole time as if in a trance. "How'd it break?"

Blake blushes once she realizes what she was doing and averts her eyes, remembering the crunch her wrist gave as the alpha crushed it in its grip. "The alpha," she pauses to lick her dry and cracked lips, wishing for some water, "it grabbed my arm when I was running. When I grabbed onto a tree, it got pissed off and squeezed my wrist until it broke."

Derek nods, "And your knee?" he presses.

"When I let go of the tree, it flung me to the ground. When I tried to scoot away, it stomped on my knee," Blake explains, she closes her eyes, trying to ignore the angry pulse her knee gives as she thinks about the alpha. "I assume you knew about the alpha," she states flatly, opening her eyes to stare accusingly at him.

"Yeah," Derek says unflinchingly, "I did."

Blake brings her good arm up to push off of the floor, tired of lying on her stomach in such an unguarded position. As she does, she realizes she's wearing a shirt now. It must be another one of Derek's, but when she moves, she can feel a breeze come through the back. She turns her head to see that the back's cut out so it doesn't touch the raw flesh. She's taken aback by the simple gesture, surprised that he'd even bother. Pushing herself up, she hisses as weight is shifted onto her swollen knee, before awkwardly transitioning to sit on her backside, stretching her injured leg out in front of her as she does. The wounds on her back pulse steadily, a punishment for agitating them with all of her movement. "Good," she says sarcastically, "I'd really hate for you to be taken by surprise and get your ass handed to you." The statement is supposed to be a little more vicious, but by the end, her eyes have slid closed and all of the bite has drained out of her voice. It's nobody's fault but her own that she got attacked. It would've been a little nice to have some warning though. But who owes her even that much?

When Blake opens her eyes again, Derek's staring steadily at her, a slight crease of displeasure lining his brow. "You haven't heard anything about the animal attacks?" he asks skeptically.

"No," Blake says, reaching down to try and roll up her pants sleeve. "I've been out of the hunting scene for a while. I thought we established that."

"You don't have to be a hunter to read the papers, see the news reports, or notice the people gathering a lynching mob for the 'mountain lion' causing all the attacks," Derek says drily, rolling his eyes at her.

Blake ignores the rather good point he made, instead trying to force her jeans to roll up past her cantaloupe-sized knee. "So if it's attacking people, why are they looking for a mountain lion? It looks nothing like one."

"Not everyone's lucky enough to survive," Derek says.

Blake casts her eyes to the side, absorbing the information. "So it's killing people," she mutters quietly. It makes sense for there to be an alpha in the area the Argents moved to. She just wishes she hadn't been so blind as to not realize it before now.

"Yeah, it is," Derek agrees. "That's why I need your help to kill it."

Blake looks at him sharply, "I told you," she grits, her teeth grinding together harshly, "I'm not a hunter anymore."

"I'm not asking you as a hunter," Derek says, maintaining steady eye contact with Blake. "I'm asking you as a werewolf. If he gets caught, what do you think it means for the rest of us?" he asks, gesturing towards her and then to himself.

"I have problems of my own," Blake says, averting her eyes. "I'm not going to commit to something I can't finish," she says stubbornly.

"It's because of your deal with Starla, right?" Derek asks bluntly.

Electric blue flashes to life in Blake's eyes, suspicion and anger curling her features sharply. "How do you know about that?!" she spits, wanting nothing more than to be able to cross the room and wrap her hands around his throat. The only people who know are Starla and Faith, both of which she told personally, and there's absolutely no way they know Derek. Even if they knew him, there'd be no reason to tell him. Why does he know? What does he want from her?

"Back in New York, you were in your motel room. I got there just as you told her about being bitten," Derek explains, shrugging her anger off easily. It's not like she could do much harm to him in her current state.

Blake takes a deep breath, anger festering under her skin like a disease. "So you eavesdropped on me?" she seethes, clenching her fingers into fists.

"Yeah, I did," Derek agrees easily, nodding. "It was an opportunity to make sure you weren't a threat. I took it. For all I knew, you could've still been connected to Kate and all the other hunters."

At the mention of being connected to the other hunters, Blake's anger is deflated, only to be left with a feeling of apathy. "Did it make you feel better to know the only person who would help me is going to kill me after she's done using me?" she asks, closing her eyes as if to block out the world.

"So you're going through with it," Derek states, ignoring her question.

Blake's eyes snap open to level Derek with a heavy glare, "Of course I'm going through with it," she says curtly, insulted at the slightest insinuation that she'd go back on her word. "I promised I would."

"And your promises mean more than your life?" Derek asks skeptically, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Yes," Blake answers without a moment's hesitance.

"Then promise me to help kill the alpha, and I'll get you out of this deal," Derek propositions, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't want out of the deal," Blake says, staring back defiantly. "It's too late to change the terms, anyway."

"So you want to die?" Derek asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

"It doesn't matter what I want anymore," Blake shrugs. "Even if I go back on my word and decide not to go through with it, I'll still be a werewolf. My whole life has changed and nothing I used to know is reliable anymore."

"Don't be so melodramatic," Derek rolls his eyes. "You're still alive. You can learn new things… like how to be in a pack, how to work with other werewolves."

Blake laughs, "Oh yes. I'll just go out and ask that alpha if it has any openings in its pack. I'm sure I'll be received with open arms," she says sardonically, though she can't help the little smile that pulls at her lips. "No," she says easily, "I'm pretty sure I'll be an omega until the end of my days, however soon that may be." There's no reason to dance around the subject, they both know what's going on.

"It doesn't have to be that way," Derek says. "You could still change your mind."

After a moment, she sighs and runs a hand through her hair, "I'll help you," she relents at last, hoping to draw his attention away from the subject of changing her mind. "You just better hope the alpha dies before my deal comes due," she says, averting her eyes.

"You're not going to let me help you," Derek says. It might've been a question, but she couldn't quite tell.

Blake shrugs, "You've done enough for me," she says. "I still owe you for what you've done. You saved my life back in New York, you taught me how to control the shifts, you lured Scott away from me on the full moon, you defended me against Chris Argent, and just now you carried me back here and patched me up," she pulls at the collar of the shirt's she's wearing, "you even cut a shirt for me to wear. You've done more for me than anyone has in a long time."

Derek stubbornly refuses to make eye contact with her, "You should go back to sleep," he says, effortlessly getting to his feet. "You'll heal faster."

Blake blinks hard, noticing how exhausted she is for the first time. "You're just trying to get out of the conversation," she accuses. Though she doesn't mind, she needs a break from it as well.

"Seeing as you're currently crippled, there's not much you can do about it," he smirks, exiting the room without any further explanation.

"You should be ashamed of yourself," she mutters, knowing that he can still hear her, "taking advantage of a person's injuries like that…" she breaks off to yawn, her eyes fluttering as she tries to keep them open. When she doesn't hear a reply, only his footsteps traveling deeper into the house, she gives in and slowly lowers herself back down onto the sleeping bag, her cheek pressing into the material that smells so strongly of Derek, which has somehow become synonymous with safety.


	15. The Intrusion

A/N: Hello dears! I was able to get another chapter finished for you, seeing as how it was already mostly finished before. Unfortunately, I have to inform you that there most likely _will not_ be an update next week. I can't say for sure when it'll be, so sorry for that. Hope you enjoy this one!

To my lovely guest reviewers, here's your update. :D

* * *

**BANG!**

Blake jerks into wakefulness, her eyes flying open as she struggles to figure out what's happening. She's still in the same room she fell asleep in, she's still laying on what she can only assume is Derek's sleeping bag, and she's _still_ in a substantial amount of pain. The pain is mostly from her knee and wrist, seeing as the gashes on her back have healed somewhat. Groaning, she awkwardly pushes herself up, making sure not to put any weight on her knee or wrist. Just as she gets into a semi-comfortable sitting position, Derek strides into the room, shirtless and damp with sweat. Blake blinks hard, still trying to figure out what's going on.

Derek catches her confused look, "Hunters," is all he says, but it's enough.

Blake blanches, terror curling her insides. "How many?" she asks. But Derek ignores her, bending down and sweeping her into his arms. She yelps and wraps her arms around his neck, flinching away from his arm as it comes dangerously close to the open wounds on her back.

"Three," Derek says, carrying her into the kitchen.

As he says that, Blake picks up another voice from the front of the house, "No one home?" the voice questions gruffly.

"Oh, he's here," Kate's voice enters, causing Blake to tense rigidly. She struggles in Derek's grasp, fighting to get away from him. She needs to get to Kate. She has to find out where Wess is. "He's just not feeling very hospitable."

"Don't," Derek snaps, tightening his grip on Blake. "You're injured, you're going to get yourself killed."

"I have to!" Blake protests, Derek's fingers digging into her skin as she pushes away from him, "She knows where Wess is, I have to!" She can hear another voice enter from the front of the house, making a horrible pun about Derek being a dog.

"Don't be stupid, Blake!" Derek demands as he sets her on one of the kitchen chairs. "If Kate sees you, she will kill you. Then how will you find him?" he asks, giving Blake a sharp look. "_Think_," he stresses. "How are you going to find him if you're dead?" Blake opens her mouth to protest once more, but Derek doesn't allow her the chance. "_Stay here_," he commands.

"Really? A dog joke?" Kate drawls from the front of the house, making Blake dig her fingernails into her palms as hatred courses through her. "We're goin' there and that's the best you got?"

Derek glances at Blake pointedly, "I mean it, Blake," he hisses. "Stay here."

"If you really want to provoke him, say something like, 'Too bad your sister bit it before she had her first litter!'" Kate calls, a sadistic edge of glee entering her voice. Derek stiffens at her words, a heavy growl rumbling from his chest. Blake furrows her eyebrows in confusion, momentarily forgetting her own reasons for hating Kate as she gently reaches out to touch Derek's arm. His eyes cut over to her, already glowing neon blue rife with hatred. But when they meet Blake's confused gaze, the neon blue momentarily falters, flickering to the usual mellow green for a split second. She purses her lips, concerned for him as she wonders what exactly Kate's talking about.

"Too bad," Kate says slowly, enjoying every syllable, "that she howled like a bitch when we cut her in half!" she yells, a smile evident on her lips from the pronunciation of her words.

Blake's fingers tighten around Derek's forearm, surprised at what she just heard. "Derek?" she whispers, turning her eyes on him. He shrugs her hand off, the dangerous growl transitioning into a full roar as he charges out of the kitchen. Blake stares after him, stunned by what she just heard. Derek had a sister. Derek's sister is dead now, cut in half by other hunters… and Kate.

Derek's exit is followed closely by several crashes, screaming, and the thuds of two bodies hitting the floor. Blake concentrates intensely, listening as Derek's furious snarls increase paired with the metallic click of some kind of weapon being pulled. Soon after, a soft electrical hum follows. Another body hits the floor and she can only assume it's Derek based on the pained groans. She uses the kitchen counter to pull herself out of the chair, whimpering as her knee throbs painfully at the slightest pressure. Derek was completely fine when he went to take care of the hunters, and he's injured now. What good would Blake be, injured already?

"Wow," Kate whistles, "this one grew up in all the right places," she laughs. Derek's breathing is hard and heavy, making Blake chew on her lip in worry. "I don't know whether to kill it… or lick it," Kate grins, her footsteps tapping delicately on the floor. Grew up? What does she mean? Derek and Kate had history, obviously, but how long ago? Blake takes a tiny step forward, clutching the counter and giving a hop to avoid using her injured leg. She slowly makes her way to the door leading into the dining room using the kitchen counter.

Because she's focusing on avoiding falling on her face, Blake stops listening to Kate and Derek for a moment. She zones back in just in time to hear Derek get zapped again by whatever electrical torture device Kate has. "Nine hundred thousand volts," Kate says, her tone marveling and appreciative. Then she sighs, "You never were good with electricity, were you?" she pauses and Blake can almost hear the grin that spreads across Kate's mouth, "Or fire," she adds. "That's why I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Maybe we can help each other out."

Kate's smooth footsteps sound once again, getting closer to where Derek's struggling on the floor. "Yes, your sister was severed into tiny bits and used as bait to catch you," at Kate's words, Blake is startled into putting weight onto her bum knee, sending pain shooting up her leg. She grunts and bites her lip, trying to ignore it. At least it's not as bad as it was the day before. At least she doesn't have to deal with Kate like Derek does. She can't even imagine having a sister, let alone having her chopped into pieces to be used against Blake. Hunters like Kate really are some of the worst people on Earth. Was Blake ever like that?

"Now," Kate says primly, "here's the part that might really kick you in the balls…" she pauses, letting the end of her sentence hang on the air for a second. "We didn't kill her." Derek must have made some sort of expression at this, because Kate snorts, "You think I'm lying?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," Derek grits, his teeth clenched tightly together.

Kate clicks her tongue disapprovingly, "Sweetie," she coos. "Well, why don't you just listen to my heart and see if I'm telling the truth, okay?" she asks softly, though it's all a rouse for dramatic effect. "We… Didn't… Kill… Your… Sister," she breathes, each word getting quieter than the last. Blake can't quite hear her heartbeat clearly enough. "Do you hear that?" she asks quietly, "There's no blips or upticks. Just the steady beat of cold, hard truth."

Kate's footsteps click along the floorboards once more. "We found bite marks on her body, Derek. Now, what do you think did that?" she asks patronizingly, as if she were talking to a child. "A mountain lion?" she snorts incredulously. "You might as well admit what you've been guessing all along, which is… the alpha killed your sister," Kate's weapon clicks as she does something with it, Blake isn't sure what, she just hopes it's not to hurt Derek again. "And all you have to do is tell us who it is, and we'll take care of it for you. Problem solved, everyone goes home happy," Kate propositions, her tone light. There's a pause, filled only with the sounds of Derek's labored breathing. "Unless," she says slowly, coming upon a realization, "you don't know who it is either." She chuckles and when Derek doesn't say anything to prove her wrong, it escalates into a full blown laugh.

"Guess who just became totally useless?" Kate sneers, accompanied by the clicking of a gun magazine sliding into place. Blake tenses, forcing herself to ignore the pain and limp through the dining room, hoping to get to Derek in time to help in some way. The sound of something sliding across the floor is followed by heavy footsteps—Derek's—seconds before a thick cloud of gunfire. He bursts into the dining room and catches sight of her, scowling when he notices she's not where he left her.

"Let's go," he barks. Blake, anticipating his next move from the way he positions his arms, hold her arms out and wraps them around his neck as he gets closer, allowing herself to be swept into his arms as he runs through the dining room and kitchen without pausing for a second. He kicks open the backdoor in the kitchen, leaps down the stairs and sprints out the back into the forest, Blake cradled in his arms clinging to his neck.

Blake pushes her face into his neck, cringing as all of her injuries are jostled and the wounds on her back are pressed onto Derek's arm. Instead of complaining, she tightens her hold on him and clenches her eyes shut, hoping they'll stop running soon. After a couple minutes, Derek's sprint slows into an easy jog and then transitions into a walk. Blake nearly sighs in relief, but Derek doesn't give her the chance. "I thought I told you to stay put," he says, growling in irritation.

"I thought she was going to kill you," Blake shoots back. "What, should I have just sat there and let you die?"

"Yes, actually!" Derek snaps. "You're basically _crippled_," he stresses, referring to her various handicaps. "You would've died before you could even sneeze at her."

Blake glares at him, wiggling in his arms to pull herself closer to eyelevel with him, "Yeah?" she asks venomously, "Well, you weren't doing so hot in there either." Derek scowls at her words, but otherwise doesn't retaliate.

Blake sighs and rolls her eyes, "Are you going to keep staying there?" she asks, steering the conversation away from their collective shortcomings. "The hunters are probably going to stake out your house."

"I don't know yet," Derek says, kneeling to set Blake gently down under a tree, where the sun can't reach. "But I have to go back to get my car."

Blake winces and repositions herself, straightening her knee out. It feels better than before, but it still hurts to move it too much. "You mean right now?" she asks, frowning. Kate probably hasn't left yet, she's most likely still snooping around. Distantly, Blake wonders if Kate saw Derek carrying her. "Kate probably hasn't left yet."

"Then I'll wait until she's gone," Derek says simply, crossing his arms. Blake's eyes trail over his finely muscled arms as he does so, spotting a smudge of blood on one of them. It probably belongs to her. The scent of blood is currently a constant for her, so it's not like it's unusual.

"She's really going to shoot you this time," Blake snorts, shaking her head as she gently massages her knee.

"At least it won't make me completely useless," Derek says, giving a pointed look at Blake's knee.

Blake's face falls into a scowl, her hands dropping away from her knee. "You aren't already?" she asks sardonically, crossing her arms across her chest. "I was under the wrong impression then."

Derek rolls his eyes, though he can't quite hold back the smirk that pulls on his lips, "You probably shouldn't say that to the person you're currently relying on for transportation."

Blake can't help the small laugh that rises at his words, "Yeah, probably not," she agrees, unable to get rid of her smile. But then her mind flashes over to what she heard minutes before, a faceless woman chopped in half by Kate, and it's like a cold stone dropped in her stomach. Pursing her lips, she determinedly ignores the thought and instead runs her fingers over her swollen knee. It's hot to the touch and, though she hasn't been able to see it yet, most likely bruised black and blue.

"Do you have anything I could cut this with?" Blake asks, tugging at the pants leg of her jeans.

Derek arches an eyebrow at her, giving her a skeptical look. "Really?" he drawls, crossing his arms. "Aren't you a werewolf?"

Blake blinks, "Well, yes," she shrugs, "just not a very good one."

Derek scoffs and kneels next to her, twigs and rocks making a crunching noise under his knee. Without waiting for any other sort of encouragement, he extends his claws and takes the faded blue denim in his fingers, shredding it easily. He pulls his claws through the material, leaning closer to circle completely around her leg, separating one of the pants legs from the rest of the material. Basically, now she has pants with one full length leg and one the length of shorts.

Blake groans and slides the denim over her swollen knee, "Thanks," she looks at her knee and winces at the disgusting conglomeration of deep plum-colored bruises peppered by sallow yellow and green. "Somehow it hurts worse now that I know it looks like that," she comments, wishing she could pull her jeans back over it. She runs her fingers over it, prodding at places that seem more bruised than others to get a feel of where it hurts the worst and where the most hindering injury might be. But she can't really tell because of the swelling.

"You said he stomped on you, right?" Derek asks, kneeled beside her still.

"Yeah," Blake agrees, pressing her palms against her knee to see if the pressure would make it feel better. "He threw me on the ground after pulling me away from the tree, when I started scooting back, he crushed my knee under his foot. Then he picked me up by the throat…" she pauses and shrugs, one of her hands absently coming up to rub her neck. "At the time, I thought he was going to kill me… but I don't know anymore. Why didn't he just tear my throat out? He definitely had the chance. And if he was going to kill me, what was the point of injuring my knee?"

"It's like he was playing with you," Derek comments, standing up from his kneeling position and brushing his jeans off.

Blake nods absently, "Like a cat with a mouse…" she says, repressing a rough shiver at the image.

"Did you catch his scent?" Derek asks.

"Um," Blake pauses, trying to recall the scent of the alpha that attacked her. She remembers what he sounded like, roaring in her face and barreling through the brush after her, his footsteps hitting the ground like cracks of thunder. She remembers the thick forest air filtering through her nose as she ducked and weaved through the trees, the scent of the local wildlife filling her lungs. "No... I didn't," she says, not finding a single item in her memory about the alpha's scent. Only its snarling, hateful face and mouth full of teeth.

Derek shakes his head, "You weren't kidding. You make an awful werewolf," he scoffs.

Blake raises her shoulders and lets them drop lazily, "I guess it's to be expected," she snorts. "I spent more than ten years of my life hunting werewolves, it's only natural that I suck at being one." There's a brief pause before Blake laughs and shakes her head. "Wow, that was really pathetic," she comments breezily, holding her unbroken arm out. "Help me up."

Derek crinkles his eyebrows at her, though she can't tell if it's about what she said about being a werewolf or her command for him to help her up. Either way, he takes her hand in his and leans down to wrap the other arm around her shoulder, pulling her easily to her feet. He keeps his hold on her as she wobbles slightly, balancing on one leg. "Okay," she breathes, "you can let go." Derek does as she says and takes a small step back, though his eyes watch her closely and he remains tense.

Blake bites her lip and slowly transitions her weight over to her other leg. Her knee gives a deep dull ache that makes her grit her teeth, but it holds up. Unconsciously, she grabs at Derek's arm as she takes a step forward, limping heavily. But when Derek moves his arm to make it easier for her to hold, she realizes what she's doing and pulls her hands back quickly. "Sorry," she says, wiping her tingling palms on her jeans. "I didn't mean to."

"How have you spent over ten years hunting werewolves when you're not even halfway through your twenties?" Derek asks skeptically, ignoring her apology.

Blake glances at him before quickly averting her eyes. "Well… my parents were hunters. I started hunting at a very early age. I… didn't have much of a choice," she shrugs in a forced show of nonchalance.

Derek cocks an eyebrow, his eyes meticulously trailing over her and taking note of her slumped shoulders and averted eyes. "Your parents forced you to be a hunter?" he asks slowly, watching her closely.

Blake swallows hard, shrugging and wrapping her fingers around her elbow, "Well, I… I don't know. It was either stay with them and hunt or go live with Starla… and I didn't want to stay with Starla."

"So you knew her before," Derek states, turning and heading back in the direction of the house. He takes a couple steps and then stops, turning to look at Blake.

Blake gets the hint and limps after him, trying to keep from putting too much weight on her knee. "Yeah," she breathes, gritting her teeth at the pain of agitating her knee. "She and my parents knew each other before I was born. She… used to watch me for weeks at a time when my parents went hunting." She wraps her good arm across her stomach in an empty gesture of comfort, hoping to quell the ache building in her chest. Not all of the memories she has of Starla are bad. Starla's excellent at cooking; she's always preparing some sort of elaborate meal or dessert. The kitchen was the focal point of Starla's house, with huge open windows and yellow-green walls with hand-painted silhouettes of dogs on them. She would let Blake help her bake cakes when she was younger, and when she got older, she taught Blake how to cook. Blake still has several of Starla's personal recipes memorized, even though it's been years since she's had a kitchen to cook in.

In a way, Starla was the closest thing Blake ever had to a grandmother.

"Where are your parents now?" Derek asks, turning his eyes on Blake, who's still limping over to him.

Blake shrugs, "Well, after they died, they were cremated and I had their ashes scattered. So really, they could be anywhere."

"How'd they die?" Derek asks, turning in the direction of the house once more, his pace slow enough even Blake, who's partially handicapped at the moment, can keep up.

"Hunting accident," Blake says softly, clenching her eyes shut and hoping he doesn't ask further. Her knee still throbs persistently, but she's able to ignore it well enough.

Derek doesn't respond, his footsteps still crunching through the blanketing of dead leaves and twigs as he leads Blake back to the house they just escaped from. Though, at this pace, it'll take a while to get there. She grits her teeth and forces her pace to quicken, but just enough to where she's walking by Derek's side instead of trailing behind him. The rest of the walk goes without any words being spoken, the two of them chewing over their own thoughts internally. But the quiet is content and comfortable, unpressured to be filled with small talk.

* * *

A/N: Welp, there ya have it folks. Hope you enjoyed reading and thank you so much for the follows, favorites, and reviews. They mean so much to me! Y'all are awesome. :)


	16. The Offer

A/N: Hey guys! It's a week late, but here's the next chapter. Special thanks to everyone who has reviewed or favorited or followed, you guys are great! Keep it up! Not much is accomplished plot-wise, but there's tons of Derek and Blake interactions, so hopefully that makes up for it.

* * *

"Are… " Blake swallows her fear and cautiously turns her gaze up to Derek, searching his face for nonexistent answers to questions she's not even sure of, "Are you sure she's gone?" she whispers. She and Derek had walked back to the house, right now they're about a hundred feet away from it, watching and listening for any signs of movement. Part of Blake wants Kate to be there so she can ask about Wess, but another part of her knows that even if Kate's in there, there's almost no way Kate will give up the information willingly. Besides, Kate is dangerous and Blake's injured.

"I'm sure," Derek replies, giving her a look that could be interpreted as reassuring. "Close your eyes," he commands. Blake's gaze flickers up to his face uncertainly, a question on her lips, but Derek silences her with a sharp look and continues talking, "Focus your hearing on the house, single it out from all the other noises. You have to block them out, one by one until all you can hear is what's in the house."

Blake studies his face closely, searching for anything there to give her reason to distrust him. She's not entirely sure what he's talking about or why he wants her to close her eyes and focus on the house, but she's not going to argue. She slowly allows her eyes to slide closed and shifts her attention to her ears. She can hear Derek's heartbeat, a rhythmic pulse that's steady and strong, along with his breathing, a deep inhale followed by a slow exhale. But she's not supposed to be listening to that. He said to block all other noises out, to concentrate on the house. So she tries. But instead she hears the wind as it pulls through the leaves, she hears the squirrels as they chase each other, she hears the birds as they call out with their songs. But mostly, she still just hears _him,_ his beating heart and breath. The slow way he transitions his weight from point to the other, the soft gritting of the soil under his shoes, the papery sound of the leaves crushed under his knee, the sound of his jeans creasing, his hand sliding over the denim material of his pants… _she hears it all. _It's going to drive her insane.

Blake's eyes flicker open, her teeth ground together in frustration. She glances at Derek, unsurprised to find him watching her already. She's supposed to be listening to the house, after all. She licks her lips and rakes her hand through her hair, irritated by her lack of success. "All I can hear is you," she says at last, her words taking on an unintended tone of accusation.

Blake hears his lips part and she clenches her eyes shut, blushing at the sound. She doesn't usually hear this clearly, what's going on? "That's good," he says, making her scoff. How could it be good that she's so intensely focused on the sound of his tongue against his teeth as his mouth forms the words, his voice, which sounds different from usual for some reason, vibrating and echoing though her, and the soft hiss of air that accompanies it? "That means you're tuned in to me, all you have to do now is switch that concentration over to the house."

Blake takes in a deep breath, trying to ease away most of her frustration. "How?" she asks quietly.

"It's like focusing your eyesight," Derek says, making Blake bit her lip at the sounds she can hear while he speaks, "but instead of your sight, it's your hearing."

"Okay," she breathes, closing her eyes, eager to be free of the maddening sounds of Derek. Like he instructed, she imagines her range of hearing to be her eyesight and tries to shift it by focusing on the house in the clearing in front of her. It's slow-going, like a puddle of spilled honey spreading sluggishly, but she manages to do it using Derek's advice. She exhales slowly, analyzing the noises being revealed to her. The house gives a dry creak, like an old man easing into a chair with a weary sigh, as it settles. There's a breath of wind ruffling through the open windows and disturbing the half-burnt curtains that still remain. In the kitchen a drop of water splashes onto the stainless steel sink with a musical plink. From one of the rooms comes a flutter of paper and a soft groan of the well-worn binding of an old book. Though the house is still alive with noises, there is nothing alive inside apart from the birds making nests in the attic. Kate is gone, just like Derek said.

Blake purses her lips, trying to figure out whether she's relieved or upset by Kate's absence. "There's no one there," she mutters to herself.

"They've left for the moment," Derek says, gracefully pushing off the ground and standing. He pauses a moment before holding a hand out to Blake.

Blake stares at his hand, feeling an ugly sensation of helplessness welling up inside her. She wants to refuse the hand he's offering her, but she knows that she'll have difficulty getting up on her own with her bum knee and wrist. She represses her stubborn pride and places her uninjured hand in his, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Her knee gives a dull, yet persistent, throb as her weight is placed partially on it, though it still feels better than before. "Thanks," she mumbles somewhat begrudgingly, frustrated with her current lack of mobility.

Derek gives a short nod of acknowledgement before turning his back on her and heading towards the house, his pace much too brisk for Blake to even hope to keep up with. "You should go wait by the car," Derek says, skipping the stairs by hopping straight onto the porch.

Blake rolls her eyes at the command, though she figures it wouldn't even be worth it to follow him into the house, especially if he's only retrieving his belongings. Feeling pathetically feeble, she hobbles over to the sleek black Camaro and rests against the side, taking her weight off her bum knee.

It only takes a couple moments for Derek to reappear in the door way, no longer shirtless and carrying a duffel bag. He jumps over the steps and saunters up to the car, giving Blake a scrutinizing look. "You could've waited inside," he says, pulling the unlocked door open and pressing a button to pop the trunk.

"You said 'by the car,'" Blake reminds, "not 'inside the car,'" she mutters, pulling the passenger door open and trying to figure out how to get inside without irritating her knee.

Derek scoffs, "I remember what I said, I just didn't know you'd take it so literally," he replies, tossing the duffel bag in the trunk.

"I didn't know how else to take it," Blake responds, pulling a lever on the underside of the seat to scoot it back. Once she's satisfied with its position, she slowly lowers herself into the seat sideways, so that her legs are still sticking out of the car. Then she gingerly pulls her injured leg inside, taking special care to try and keep it unbent. She leans back to pull her other leg in and seeing as how this leg is uninjured; she assumes it'll be the easier one. Unfortunately, that assumption causes her to become careless, leaning back too far and scraping her injured back on the seat.

Blake gasps in pain and snaps her eyes shut, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as the wounds on her back give an extremely painful reminder of their existence. They're definitely still there, and now she wonders how she even forgot about them in the first place. She clenches her fingers into a fist, her dull nails digging into the flesh of her palm, and tries to slow her breathing, waiting for the pain to recede. It's her own fault for being careless, she really should have remembered.

"Do you have a towel?" Blake manages to ask, feeling blood start to dribble down her back. The warm liquid contrasts with her cooled skin, feeling like the first trickle of summer rain. To make it somewhat worse, the shirt she's wearing has the back cut out so it wouldn't irritate her wounds, meaning there's nothing to soak up the blood.

"No," Derek says after a short moment of rummaging through his duffel.

Blake groans and rubs a hand over her face, "Well, as I'm sure you've already noticed, my back's bleeding again."

"I noticed," Derek affirms, closing the trunk and walking around to Blake's side of the car. "It's not bleeding as much as before," he says, leaning into Blake's personal space to pull a lever on the seat and recline it all the way back. "As long as you don't lie down, you should be okay," he says, straightening up to head back over to the driver's side.

"I'm not planning on it," Blake comments, remembering how much it hurt to even graze the wound, "but what if it drips?"

Derek sits in the driver's seat and pulls his door closed, giving her a skeptical glance. "Don't tell me you're actually concerned about my upholstery after the oil and blue raspberry slushie incident," he says dryly, pulling his keys out of his pocket and sliding them into the ignition.

Blake cringes, a faint blush warming her cheeks as she remembers the awful ordeal in the parking lot of the gas station. "Well," she gives a laugh as she pulls the car door closed, "I guess that's about right. Though to be fair, it was right after you kidnapped me and I got threatened by a guy who most likely has enough guns to stock an army."

"I didn't 'kidnap' you," Derek rolls his eyes, giving the car gas and pulling out of the makeshift driveway. "You got in the car willingly."

"I would say that you don't understand how intimidating you are, but I think you know _exactly_ how intimidating you are," Blake scoffs, almost laughing at his weak denial.

"So now I intimidated you into getting into the car," Derek states, glancing over to give her an incredulous look. "Haven't you seen worse things than me?"

Blake purses her lips at the unexpected question, unsure of whether it was rhetoric or not. "Most of the scary things I've seen are werewolves, and you certainly fit the bill. But my new vision of scary is more blond and gun-toting… so maybe you didn't intimidate me," she says sardonically.

"The Argents," Derek says blankly. "You're seriously scared of the Argents."

Blake hums thoughtfully, trying to figure out whether that was just another case of her mouth getting away from her brain… or something more. Is she scared of the Argents? Is she _really _scared? Or does she just think she _should _be scared of them? She was scared of Chris in the gas station parking lot, but when it comes down to it, the worst thing he could do to her is kill her. But what does death matter to her when she's already signed her life away? It would be like a prisoner on death row dying before their execution date.

"Yeah," Blake agrees at last, "I'm seriously scared of the Argents."

But really, she's scared of what it means for Wess if the Argents kill her before she finds him.

* * *

Derek pulls into the parking lot of Blake's crummy motel, even going so far as to park right in front of her room. Blake shuffles awkwardly, reaching across with her left arm to open the door, not wanting to test the brokenness of her right arm. She hadn't been wearing a seat belt because she was sure it would only irritate everything more than necessary. Besides if they did get into a car crash, she had a feeling those injuries would still heal faster than the ones bestowed on her by the alpha.

Her fingers touch the handle of the door and she pauses, taking note of the disgruntled-looking family of three ferrying luggage into their room. Surely it would raise some concern if they see her limp into her room, her back shredded seemingly beyond repair. For a moment, she plays with the idea of asking for help from Derek, but before that idea even fully forms, she discards it like a used tissue. Getting help would likely require asking for it. She purses her lips and clenches her teeth, stubbornly swallowing the urge to ask for help. She'll do it on her own.

Hoping Derek doesn't notice her hesitation, Blake pushes the door open, gracelessly shifting and wiggling in her seat to set her right leg on the ground. She grabs the frame of the car with her left arm and uses it to heave herself out of the vehicle, simultaneously shifting her weight over to the foot planted on the ground. "Thanks for the ride," she says tonelessly, her eyes dropping to the ground even though he can't see her. "And…" the words stick to the inside of her mouth, her stomach clenching uneasily. "And thanks for everything else," she says dismissively. She wants to say more, to try and make him understand that she really is grateful , but she doesn't know how. She doesn't know what else to say. What could she say? _'Oh, hey Derek, I'm glad that you came running at the sounds of my screams. It was really nice of you to carry me for a couple miles and bring me to your old burnt house to patch me up. I'm sorry I bled on you and that you had to ruin one of your shirts to preserve my decency. It was good talking to you. Nice abs by the way.'_

Blake scoffs and tosses her head to the side, her nose scrunching in distaste. She rips her keys from her pocket and forces herself to ignore the sharp lance of pain in every step as she strides up to her door, jamming the key in the knob and swiftly opening it. She's about to slam the door behind her and drown her sorrows in a hot shower when her guilt catches up to her. Derek has done so much for her and she's about to shut the door on him—literally. She sighs and turns back to look at him, noticing that he hasn't moved the car out of park yet and that his eyes are trained on her.

Blake crosses her arm uncomfortably across her chest, trying to shake off the vulnerability that seems to follow her like a shadow lately. Knowing he'll have no trouble hearing her, even over the engine, she asks, "Where are you going after this?" It's a covert way of trying to figure out if he has somewhere to stay. Though she's sure he isn't fooled.

"I'm going to see if I can find the alpha," Derek says, pinning her with a meaningful look that causes her to drop her gaze to the ground. She agreed to helping him with the alpha, though she'd be more of a hindrance than anything if she went with him now. They both know it, though it pains her to acknowledge.

He didn't answer her intended question, making her frown. She wonders if it was on purpose since he seems to be enjoying watching her squirm. But she knows she can't let him leave without trying to repay him some way, no matter how insignificant. Keeping her eyes trained on the line of ants trailing across the cement and swarming some crumbs of what used to be an animal cracker so she doesn't have to look at him, she finally begins to speak. "If you don't have anywhere else to go but back to that house," she pauses and grits her teeth, unsure of how to phrase it, "…you can come back here." After spitting the words out, she uncertainly shifts her gaze up to his face, only to find him smirking at her.

"I'll keep that in mind," he says, finally shifting the car out of park and pulling out of the parking spot. He's gone within seconds and she's finally left to sort through her thoughts, though she'd rather poke herself in the eye with a lit match.

Giving a world-weary sigh, Blake trudges into the bathroom where she turns on the taps. After that, she braces herself and begins to carefully tug her clothing off, clutching at the counter to help her keep her balance and compensate for the lack of using her bum knee. This shower is definitely going to be one of the more difficult ones, but it's necessary seeing as how she reeks of blood, dirt, and sweat. She gives an ugly snort and wonders how Derek managed to stand next to her without gagging. It must've been an impressive force of will.

After gingerly showering, Blake dresses in loose clothing and towels her hair dry. Closing her eyes, she sinks face first into the lumpy mattress, wet, stringy hair sticking to her neck and tickling her cheeks. Her mind whirrs around in maddening circles, stuck on a hellacious carousel ride of angry, buzzing thoughts. She thinks of the simple search for Wess that turned into something much more. Thinking of the search leads her thoughts to the forest, thinking of the forest brings her to the alpha, from the alpha to her wounds, from her wounds to Derek, from Derek to being carried into his house, from being carried into his house to the painful talk of deals, from the painful talk of deals to Kate, from Kate to the awkward drive back to the motel room, from the awkward drive to the motel room to being alone with only the sound of the shower for company. Then it goes back to Wess. She wouldn't be alone if he was with her—where he belongs. Then her thoughts replay themselves. It's only noon, she has all day to lie in bed and be miserable and crippled.

Blake groans as her tired and aching body finally relaxes and some of the tension seeps away. She breathes softly, the overwhelmingly calming combination of being _clean_ and _warm _and _free of agony, _lulls her into deep sleep, where she doesn't dream—or at the very least she doesn't remember her dreams. But, if she did remember them, she'd notice a surprising inclusion of a certain green-eyed werewolf.


End file.
